IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


■^  tii   1122 

?  '-  IIIIM 

U    ill  1.6 


<% 


V] 


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^a 


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7 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  Institut  canadien  de  microreproductions  historiques 


1980 


Technical  Notes  /  Notes  techniques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
original  copy  available  for  filming.  Physical 
features  of  this  copy  which  may  alter  any  of  the 
images  in  the  reproduction  are  checked  below. 


L'Institut  a  microfilmd  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  6t6  possible  de  se  procurer.  Certains 
ddfauts  susceptibles  de  nuire  d  la  quality  de  la 
reproduction  sont  notds  ci-dessous. 


D 


Coloured  covers/ 
Couvertures  de  couleur 


D 


Coloured  pages/ 
Pages  de  couleur 


D 


Coloured  maps/ 

Cartes  gdographiques  en  couleur 


Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 
Pages  d^colordes,  tachetdes  ou  piqudes 


n 

D 


Coloured  plates/ 
Planches  en  couleur 


Show  through/ 
Transparence 


D 


Tight  binding  (may  cause  shadows  or 
distortion  along  interior  margin)/ 
Reliure  serr6  (peut  causer  de  I'ombre  0!i 
de  ia  distortion  le  long  de  la  marge 
intdrieure) 


n 


Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommagdes 


D 


Additional  comments/ 
Commentaires  suppl6mentaires 


Bibliographic  Notes  /  Notes  bibliographiques 


D 
D 
D 


Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Edition  disponible 


Bound  with  other  material/ 
Relid  avec  d'autres  documents 


Cover  title  missing/ 

Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 


D 
D 

D 


Pagination  incorrect/ 
Erreurs  de  pagination 


Pages  missing/ 
Des  pages  manquent 


Maps  missing/ 

Des  cartes  gdographiques  manquent 


D 


Plates  missing/ 

Des  planches  manquent 


D 


Additional  comments/ 
Commentaires  suppldmentiires 


ns 
la 


The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche  shall 
contain  the  symbol  —^-(meaning  CONTINUED"), 
or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"),  whichever 
applies. 


Les  images  suivantes  ont  6t6  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettetd  de  I'exemplaire  filmd,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la  der- 
nidre  image  de  chaque  microfiche,  selon  le  cas: 
le  symbole  --^  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le  symbole 
V  signifie  "FIN". 


The  original  copy  was  borrowed  from,  and 
filmed  with,  the  kind  consent  of  the  following 
institution: 

Library  of  the  Public 

Archives  of  Canada 

Maps  or  plates  too  large  to  be  entirely  included 
in  one  exposure  are  filmed  beginning  in  the 
upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to  right  and  top  to 
bottom,  as  many  frames  as  required.  The 
following  diagrams  illustrate  the  method: 


L'exemplaire  filmd  fut  reproduit  grdce  d  la 
gdn6rosit6  de  I'dtablissement  prdteur 
suivant  : 

La  bibliothdque  des  Archives 

publiques  du  Canada 

Les  cartes  cu  les  planches  trop  grandes  pour  dtre 
reproduites  en  un  seul  cliche  sont  film6es  d 
partir  de  Tangle  supdrieure  gauche,  de  gauche  d 
droite  et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Le  diagramme  suivant 
illustre  la  mdthode  : 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

"^r-p 


GUIDO    AND    LITA 

A   TALE  OF  THE  RIVIERA 


ORLES. 


[F?vntigjriec 


GUIDO   AND    LITA 


^  Mt  of  t\)t  iiimii 


BY 


THE  RIGHT  HOx\.  THE  MARQUIS  OF  LORNE 


117/7/  /LLfSTRAV/UXS. 


NEW  YORK 
MAC  MI  LEAN    AND    CO. 

^875 


•^?A''     •- ;TNiV.T&£J 


.   _^.-/v 


"  Prom  conntk'Sis  terraceg/wliere  olives  ripe, 
Unchilled  by  nutumn's  blast,  or  wintry  skies.' 


[I'lige : 


GUIDO   AND    LITA 

^  Wt  of  ik  immi 


AIL,  Bivi(>ra  !  liail,  tlie  mountain  range 

That  guardH  from  northern  winds,  and  seasons' 
change, 

Yon  southern  spurs,  descending  fast  to  be 
I  he  sun-ht  capes  akmg  the  tideless  sea ; 
Whose  waters,  azure  as  the  sky  above 
Eeflect  the  glories  of  the  scene  they  lo've  ! 

Here  every  slope,  and  intervening  dale 
Yields  a  sweet  fragrance  to  the  passing  gale 
From  the  thick  woods,  where  dark  caroubas' twine 
Iheir  massive  verdure  with  the  hardier  pine 
And  'mid  the  rocks,  or  hid  in  hollowed  cave^ 
The  fern  and  iiis  in  profusion  wave  • 


4  OUIDO  AND  TJTA: 

From  conntloss  terraces,  wlioro  olives  rise, 
Undiilled  by  autumn's  blast,  or  wiutry  skies.. 
And  round  the  stems,  -witliin  tliv;  dusky  shade. 
The  red  anemones  their  hopie  have  made  ; 
From  gardens,  where  its  breath  forever  blows 
Through  myrtle  thickets,  and  their  wreaths  of  rose. 

Like  the  proud  lords  wlio  oft,  with  clash  of  mail. 

Would  daunt  the  commerce  that  the  trader's  sail 

Hud  sought  to  bring,  enriching  and  to  bless, 

The  lands  tliey  2)lagued  with  conflict  and  distress, 

Till  none  but  robber  chiefs  and  galley  slaves 

Ruled  the  fair  shores  or  rode  the  tranc^uil  waves, — 

So  stand  their  forts  ujion  the  hills  ;  with  towers 

Still  frowning,  sullen  at  the  genial  showers, 

That,  brought  on  white-wingiMl  clouds,  have  come  to  dower 

The  arid  soil  with  recreative  power. 


No  warrior's  tread  is  echoed  by  their  halls. 
No  warder's  challenge  on  the  silence  falls. 
Arouiul,  the  thrifty  peasants  ply  their  toil 
And  ]  (luck  in  orange  groves  the  scented  spoil 
From  trees,  that  have  for  purple  mountains  made 
A  vestment  bright  of  green,  and  gold  inlaid. 
The  Avomen,  baskets  poised  above  their  brows, 
In  long  array  beneath  the  citron  boughs 
Drive  on  the  loaded  mules  with  sound  of  bells, 


Turbla'8  trophy  stamped  ttic  tyrant's  will. 


[Pagu  4. 


-^ 


A  TALE  OF  THE  RIVIERA. 

Tliat,  in  the  distanco,  of  tli(>lr  presence  tells, 

To  springs  that,  Lid  from  the  pursuing  day, 

Love  only  Night ;  who,  loving  them,  doth  stay 

In  the  deep  waters,  moss  and  reed  o'ergrown, — 

Or  cold  in  caverns  of  the  chilly  stone, — 

Sought  of  the  steep-built  towns,  whose  white  walls  gleam 

High  'midst  the  woods,  or  close  by  ocean's  stream. 


Like  flowering  aloes,  the  fair  belfries  soar 

O'er  houses  clustered  on  the  sandy  shore  ; 

From  ancient  battlements  the  eye  surveys 

A  hundred  lofty  peaks  and  curving  bays. 

From  whore,  at  morn  and  eve,  the  sun  may  paint 

The  cliiffs  of  Corsica  with  colours  faint ; 

To  where  the  fleets  of  haughty  Genoa  plied 

The  trade  that  humbled  the  Venetian's  pride. 

And  the  l)luo  wastes,  where  roamed  the  men  who  came 

To  leaguer  tower  and  town  with  sword  and  flame. 

For  by  that  shore,  the  scene  of  soft  repose 

When  happy  Peace  her  benison  bestows. 

Have  storms,  more  dire  than  Nature's,  lashed  the  coasts, 

AMion  met  the  tides  of  fierce  contending  hosts  ; 

From  the  far  days  when  first  Liguria's  hordes 

Stenmicd  for  a  while  the  rush  of  Roman  swords, 

Oidy  to  mark  how,  on  their  native  hill, 

Turbia's  trophy  stamj)ed  the  tyrant's  will ; 

To  those  bright  hours  that  saw  the  Moslem  reel 

Back  from  the  conflict  with  the  Christian  steel. 


^1 


6  GUIBO  AND  LITA: 

These  last  were  times  when,  emulous  for  creed, 
And  for  his  soul  to  battle  and  to  bleed. 
The  warrior  had  no  need  of  pilgrim's  vow, 
At  eastern  shrines,  to  lay  the  Pa}Tiim  low ; 
For  through  the  west,  the  Saracen  had  spread 
The  night  that  followed  where  his  standards  led. 

Not  with  the  pomp  or  art  Granada  saw 
Keign  in  her  lands,  beneath  the  Prophet's  law, 
Did  the  rude  pirates  here  assert  their  sway  : — 
No  gilded  talons  seized  the  quivering  prey ; 
Savage  the  hand,  and  pitiless  the  blow. 
That  wrought  the  swift  and  oft-recurring  woe. 
No  boon,  no  merc}^ ,  could  the  captive  ask ; 
If  spared  to  live,  his  doom  the  deadly  task 
To  strain — a  slave — each  muscle  at  the  oar 
That  brought  the  rover  to  the  kinsman's  door, 
Or  bore  him,  safe  from  the  pursuit,  away, 
The  plunder  stored,  to  Algiers'  hated  bay. 


With  the  dread  terror  that  their  raids  instilled 

Sank  every  hope,  by  wliich  the  heart  is  filled 

Among  the  poor  to  labour  and  to  hoard ; 

And  e'en  the  merchant,  for  his  gains  adored. 

Dared  not  to  venture,  or  to  gather  more, 

Where  danger's  form  seemed, darkening  all  before. (') 

Only  in  narrow  streets,  where  guarded  wall. 


A  TALE  OF  THE  RIVIERA. 

And  higli-raised  watcli-toM'er  gave  tlie  signal  call 
When  foes  were  near,  to  gatlier  in  defence, 
Did  the  scari^l  people  wake  from  impotence  :  — 
And  yet,  neglecting  what  conld  give  them  power. 
In  jealous  feuds  they  spent  the  prosperous  hour ; 
"While  only  adding  to  tlieir  gi'ief's  great  load, 
Each  baron  kept  within  his  strong  abode. 
Careless  of  wars  that  yitilded  little  prize. 
They  let  the  havoc  spread  beneath  their  eyes ; 
Content,  if  driven  from  their  own  estate, 
The  baffled  spoiler  sought  another's  gate. 
Thus,  through  disunion,  and  their  selfish  greed. 
The  Moor,  unharmed  performed  his  venturous  deed. 
These  Aljis,  the  fastnesses  of  high  Savoy, 
Became  his  home  ;  these  fertile  plains  his  joy. 

E'en  now  the  sounds  of  his  barbaric  speech 
In  many  a  word,  his  hngei-ing  influence  teach ; 
For  men  will  copy,  'neath  a  yoke  al)hon-ed 
All,  save  the  art  to  wield  the  conqueror's  sword ! 


Whence  then  the  strategy,  or  force,  or  guile. 
That  bade  foul  Fortune  turn  at  length,  and  smile 
Upon  a  region  like  a  very  heaven. 
But  vexed  by  man  with  hatred's  cankering  leaven  ? 
See,  where  the  mountain  stretches  forth  a  limb, 
Down  to  the  full  sea's  palj)itatLQg  briin, 


8 


aUIDO  AND  LIT  A. 


Dividing  by  tliat  brawny  arm  the  plain, 
Just  wlicre  a  river  SAviftly  seeks  tlie  main ; 
Upon  tlie  topmost  ridge  of  its  clenched  hand 
Appears  a  castle,  strongest  in  the  land. 
Prom  the  hard  rock  the  grisly  ramparts  rise. 
Their  front  illumined  by  the  morning  skies  : 
And,  swec^piug  from  their  broadening  base  away 
The  line  of  wall,  the  burghers'  liojie  and  stay, 
Encircles  with  Ioav  towers  the  stony  mass 
Wliere,  densely  packed,  the  dwellings  heap  the  pass ; 
And  girdling  still  the  fast-descending  steep, 
Crests  the  last  ridge  that  overhangs  the  deep. 


Beneath  the  cliff  the  fishing  vessels  float 
With  long-winged  sails  o'erarchiug  oveiy  boat, 
But  where  the  river's  mouth  has  made  a  port, 
Guarded  to  seaward  by  yon  square-built  fort, 
iViid  near  the  rocks  witliout  the  harbour  bar, 
Bise  taller  masts,  with  many  a  stronger  spar. 
On  the  broad  decks  that  bear  them  mav  be  heard 
From  time  to  time,  the  sharp  conimanding  word ; 
But  oftener  far  the  sounds  tliat  meet  the  ear 
Are  the  rough  songs  that  tell  the  soldier's  cheer, 
The  laughter  loud  and  long,  the  shouted  jest. 
The  tireless  clamour  of  his  time  of  rest. 
When  Danger  draws  not  nigh,  with  finger  cold 
Enforcing  i-^ilence  on  her  followers  bold. 


A  TALE  OF  THE  BIVIEBA 

Yet  these  are  men  who,  if  there  come  affi-ont, 
Seem  ready  iioav  to  bear  her  sternest  brunt  : 
For  some  are  polishing  their  arms,  tliat  shine 
In  fitful  flashes  o'er  the  s^^fU'kling  brine  • 
And  some  have  landed,  and  in  order  move 
Past  the  dai'k  belts  of  yonder  ilex  grove  ; 
Or,  stationed  singly,  drill  and  fence  with 'care, 
And  how  with  sword  and  axe  the  glancing  air. 

Now,  on  the  road  that  leads  from  out  the  town, 
Appear  two  knights,  who  slowly  wend  them  down, 
TiU  reached  the  ground,  where  still  the  men-at-arms 
Eepeat  the  mimicry  of  war's  alarms. 
But  when  among  them  wave  the  chief's  gay  plumes 
Each,  in  the  ordered  hne,  his  place  assumes  ; 
And  waits,  with  steadied  gaze,  and  lowered  brand, 
TiH  every  weapon  in  each  rank  is  scanned. 

The  elder  knight,  whose  fi(u'co  and  haughty  mien 
In  his  firm  stride,  and  on  his  brow  was  seen. 
Was  grizzled,  swarthy,  and  his  forehead  worn 
By  scars  of  fight  and  time,  not  lightly  borne  • 
For  the  dimmed  eye  that  gazed,  deep-sunk,  beneath, 
Showed  that  the  spirit's  blade  had  worn  its  sheath ; 
And  that  full  soon  the  years  must  have  an  end 
lu  which,  on  friend  or  foe,  that  glance  should  l)end. 
ihe  younger  man,  who  followed  at  his  side 


9 


10 


QUIDO  AND  LIT  A: 


Boro  the  same  impress  of  a  lofty  pride. 

But  all  liis  bearing  lacked  the  rigid  mould 

That  in  the  elder  of  tough  metal  told ; 

Thus  as  the  sire,  with  patient  care,  suiTeys 

How  every  movement  practised  skill  displays ; 

The  son  would  saunter  heedlessly  along, 

His  lips  just  murnniring  as  they  shajDed  a  song. 

His  large  grey  eye  was  restless  as  the  thought 

That  fixed  no  purpose  in  the  mind  it  sought. 

One  jewelled  hand  was  on  his  dagger  laid, 

With  pointed  beard  the  other  often  played. 

Or  swept  from  neck  and  shoulder  curls  that,  flung 

In  studied  negligence,  upon  them  hung. 

Yet  though  he  seemed  irresolute  and  weak, 

A  flush  of  pride  would  rise  upon  his  cheek. 

When  his  sire  chid  him,  "as  a  stripling  vain, — 

Almost  unworthy  of  this  gallant  train," 

And  told  him,  if  he  cared  not  for  such  state. 

To  "go,  play  ball  within  the  castle  gate !" 

Then  backward  falling  for  a  little  space, 

A  pain  was  pictured  on  his  handsome  face  : 

The  dark  brows  met,  the  shapely  lips  were  pressed, 

The  nostril  curved,  as  if  for  breath  distressed. 

But,  as  a  glistening  wave  that  quickly  flies 

From  the  cloud-shadow  where  its  brightness  dies, 

To  travel,  laughing,  onward  as  before. 

With  not  a  sign  of  any  change  it  bore ; 


A  TALE  OF  THE  RIVIERA. 

Did  the  light  temper  of  the  comely  knight 
Forget  in  loyoiisness  the  father's  slight ; 
And  smiling,  answered,  "Nay,  my  lord,  you  ne'er 
Let  me  see  use,  in  all  tliis  jiagoant  fair ; 
For,  save  upon  the  field  of  their  parade. 
These  gallant  soldiers  never  bare  a  blade." 
"Enough,"  the  father  answered,  "that  they  keep 
Our  home  from  outward  harm  or  treason  deep, 
And  that  you  only  hear,  and  have  not  seen, 
Aught  of  what  they  in  other  days  have  been, 
Before  I  made  the  town  and  yonder  rock 
Proof  to  the  miseries  you  would  liglitly  mock." 

Thus  speaking,  M-itli  a  few  of  their  armed  band 

The  two  passed  slowly  to  the  yellow  sand, 

Listening  the  while  to  wants  of  those  who  came 

To  offer  homage,  or  prefer  a  claim. 

When  free,  as  onward  on  their  path  they  went, 

The  elder  told  how  all  his  days  were  spent 

"  Throughout  his  youth,  and  e'en  to  manhood's  prime, 

In  broils,  the  passion  of  his  troubled  time  ; 

How,  at  the  last,  through  many  a  year  of  toil. 

Through  the  dread  discord  sown  upon  the  soil, 

He  reaped  the  profit  of  his  stubborn  will. 

And  gathered  power ;  until  he  won  his  fill 

Of  all  for  which  a  man  of  spirit  strives  ;— 

Kiches  and  strength  to  save  or  take,  men's  lives. 


11 


',\ 


12 


OUIDO  AND  LITA. 


'Twas  true,  all  this  might  yet  be  still  increased  ; 

But  age  had  come,  and  his  auihitiou  ceased. 

He  would  not  care  himself  to  waste  more  blood 

By  hunting  those  who  ne'er  against  him  stood. 

They  said  the  Saracen  should  l)e  destroyed ; 

Then  let  them  do  it.     If  they  died,  ho  joyed. 

Yet  for  himself  he  would  not  aid,  for  they 

Had  never  dared  to  meet  him  in  affray. 

They  knew  the  length  of  his  good  arm  too  well. 

No,  for  his  part,  he  felt  no  shame  to  tell. 

His  work  liad  only  been  with  those  who  dwell 

Around  and  near 'him,  thus  his  son  had  gained 

Such  place  and  power  as  none  before  attained. 

He  could  not  tell  him  how  to  use  it,  when 

New  times  must  change  so  much  both  things  and  men. 

One  maxim  only  he  must  bear  in  mind. 

Aye  to  the  followers  of  his  house  be  kind. 

For  if  tlie  tree  would  stretch  its  branches  round, 

The  roots  must  clasp  and  win  the  nearest  gi'ound." 


The  otiier,  as  such  speech  continuous  flowed; 
But  little  interest  in  his  bearing  showed. 
His  gentle  nurture  had  not  made  him  feel 
Either  the  fear  or  love  of  brandished  steel ; 
And  he  but  lazily  would  dream  of  deeds 
Such  as,  with  other  youths,  rapt  fancy  feeds, 
Until  the  thought  to  glorious  action  leads. 


A  TALE  OF  THE  mVIEUA. 


13 


Tims  little  liud  ho  carod  for  anglit  bosido 

The  early  objects  of  a  boyish  pride  : 

His  sports,  his  horse,  his  dogs  ;  and  now  fidl-growii, 

Less  -svorthy  loves  seemed  in  his  nature  sown, 

And  less  a  man  than  when  he  was  a  boy, 

A  trivial  foppery  became  his  joy  : 

His  velvet  stnffs,  the  fashion  of  his  sleeve, 

His  hat  and  plume,  were  what  coidd  please  or  grieve. 

While  thus  he  listened  not,  but  gazed  or  sung, 

His  eye  had  wandered  to  where  now  there  hung 

Along  the  far  horizon,  a  low  cloud 

That  mounted  steadily  on  high,  while  loud 

The  wind  piped,  like  a  rustic  at  his  toil. 

Furrowed  the  sea  in  ridges  like  the  soil. 

And  scattered  raindrops,  as  he  strode  along. 

Then  rose  the  storm,  in  awful  fury  strong. 

Gleams  of  a  wondrous  light  a  moment  stood 

On  pallid  sea  and  on  wind-stricken  wood, 

And  dazzling,  where  they  shone  the  vision's  sense, 

They  fled  ;  and,  chased  by  shadow-s  as  intense, 

Passed  wdth  the  SA\dftnoss  of  the  blast,  and  leaped 

From  gulf  to  cliff, — then  to  the  crags,  that  heaped 

In  grandeur  'gainst  the  flj'ing  skies,  appeared 

Like  to  white  ashes  that  the  fire  has  seared. 

And  then  the  mists  rolled  over  them,  as  black 

Grow  heaven's  vault  with  darkest  thunder  WTack ; 

From  under  which,  increasing  in  fierce  sound, 


14 


QUIDO  AND  LIT  A: 


A  harsh  and  hissing  noise  spread  fast  around, 
And  a  low  moaning,  hke  a  voice  of  dread, 
AVellcd,  as  if  coming  from  tlie  deep  sea's  hod. 
The  rain  ran  down,  and,  as  the  lightning  flashed. 
In  bounding  torrents  o'er  the  ground  was  dashed. 
From  the  dry  hills  the  new-born  fountains  sprung. 
The  narrow  tracks  with  swelling  waters  rung. 
And,  'mid  the  turmoil  could  be  faintly  heard 
The  heavy  fall  of  distant  land-slip,  stirred 
To  headlong  ravage,  burying  as  it  flowed, 
Man  and  his  works  beneath  a  hideous  load ! 
Down  the  broad  bed  of  shingle  and  of  stone 
That  the  shrunk  river  seemed  ashamed  to  own 
When,  in  the  heat  of  the  life-parching  day, 
A  feeble  streamlet,  scarce  it  found  a  way  ; 
Now  dashed  a  brimming  tide,  whose  eddies  surged 
Till  o'er  the  banks,  the  muddy  foam  was  urged, 
And  louder  still  the  notes  of  terror  fp.'ew, 
Ere  past  the  hills  the  roaring  tempest  flew, 
And  on  lashed  sea,  and  gi-oaning  shore  was  spent 
The  rage  of  nature,  and  her  frown  unbent ! 


Meanwhile  the  old  man  would  have  held  his  way, 
Unhurried,  back  to  where  the  castle  lay, 
Now  hidden  long  by  headlands  of  the  bay ; 
But  that  they  told  hire,  "he  must  seek  some  rest ; 
A  fisher's  hut  was  naar,  his  shelter  best." — 


A  TALE  OF  THE  RlVlEliA. 


ir, 


And  to  tho  joy  of  tho  ^ay  pliiiiiM^cd  kiiiglit 
Wlio  followcnl,  Hornnving  at  tlieir  tlrag^lcul  plight, 
Tlioy  tnriiocl  aside  ;  and,  'ncath  the  slackening  rain, 
Soon  found  a  cottage  in  a  wooded  plain ; 
And  passing  tlirougli  the  open  door,  were  met 
By  tlie  poor  owner,  who,  with  garm-'uts  wet. 
Stood,  dripping  like  a  merman,  standing  nigh 
The  pine-wood  fire,  that  sent  its  flame  on  high  : 
While  the  good  wife,  her  distaff  laid  aside. 
Still  fed  its  glow  with  many  a  branch  well-dried, 
Chattering  as  o'er  her  task  she  bent  intent. 
And  from  the  blaze  a  storm  of  sparks  Avas  sent. 


A  bright-lined  sash  tho  fisher's  jerkin  bound. 
His  scanty  locks  a  crimson  bonnet  crowned. 
H(i  turned  upon  the  guests  a  face  that  spoke 
A  ready  welcome,  ere  he  silence  broke. 
Then,  with  bared  head  and  smile  of  joy,  he  said, 
"All !  knight  of  Orlcs,  what  chance  has  hither  led 
Thee  and  the  Signor  Guido  ? — Enter  here  : 
Praise  be  to  God,  and  to  the  Virgin  dear ; 
May  She  from  tempests  every  ill  avert. 
Send  gladness  as  to  me,  instead  of  hurt ! — 
Pray,  glorious  sirs,  to  honour  my  abode, 
And  with  deep  gratitude  my  heart  to  load 
By  wishing  well  to  me  and  this  my  roof : 
Now  of  such  kindliness  to  give  me  proof, 


16 


OUTDO  AND  TATA, 


I  pray  you  take  your  seats,  and  break  your  fast. 

'Tis  your  first  visit  here,  I  fc^ar  the  last, 

For  humble  folk  got  not  such  favors  oft :" 

And  here  his  dame  broke  in — "Hist!  Carlo,  soft, 

Th(>ir  ])resence  now  gives  jo}-,  and  they  may  take 

Some  fish,  and  fruit,  and  wine.     Our  girl  Avill  bakc^ 

A  little  fiour  upon  the  emlx^'s  soon  : 

Como  hither,  Lita — Lita.     Here's  a  boon, 

A  pleasure  rare  for  thee.     Thy  bread  shall  be 

llc^freshment  to  these  lords  of  high  degree. 

O  Signors,  'tis  indcnnl  a  poor  repast, 

But  on  its  winning  has  our  toil  been  cast. 

Come,  Lita — Avherefore  lingers  she  ?  "     Tlien  came 

Into  the  ruddy  light  of  lier  h(>arth's  fiame. 

So  that  it  blazoned  her  young  beauty  forth, 

And  seemed  to  love  with  all  its  charms  to  play, 

The  fisher's  daughter,  pride  of  cape  and  bay ! 


Whose  loveliness,  not  such  as  in  the  nortli 
Bluslu^s  like  sunshine  through  the  morning  mist, — 
AVas  that  of  soutliern  eve,  quick  darkening,  kissed 
By  crimsoned  ughtniiigs  of  her  burning  day. 
A  maid  whose  arcliing  brow,  and  glancing  eyes, 
Told  of  a  passing,  timorous  surprise  ; 
Wliose  tresses  half  concealed  a  neck  tliat  raised 
A  head  that  (dassic  art  might  well  have  praised. 
Framed  with  the  hair,  in  glossy  masses  thrown 


A  TALE  OF  THE  RIVIEHA 

From  foroliond  wliiter  than  Carrara's  stono, 

H(>r  face's  linoainciits,  clear  cut,  aud  strai^'lit, 

Mio-Ut  show  that  steriinoss  lived  her  nature's  mate, 

Did  not  the  smile  that  over  them  would  steal 

Another  mood,  as  favourite,  reveal ; 

Else  had  not  dimples  on  the  sunburned  cheek 

Helped  the  eye's  morrinu^nt  so  oft  to  speak. 

O'er  beauteous  mouth  and  rounded  chin  th(u-e  strayed 

The  sign  of  power  that  ardtnit  will  betrajcxl ; 

l^ut  broken  by  a  gentleness  of  soul 

That  through  her  steadfast  gaze  in  softness  stole. 

Her  form  was  strong  and  lithe.     She  came  and  made 

A  slight  obeisance,  as  though  half  afraid ; 

Then  stood,— a  coarse  robe  flowing  to  her  feet, 

Each  limb  round  shadowed  in  the  fitful  heat. 

And,  like  the  glow  tliai  liglited  her,  there  spi>d 

Through  Guido's  frann^  a  pulse  that  quicklv  fk;d, 

But  left  his  breathless  gaze  to  feed  upon 
Th(^  figure  that,  to  him,  like  angel's  shone. 
Till  the  repast  prepared,  his  father  quaffed 
A  horn  of  wine  ;  and  turning,  as  lu^  laughed, 
Said  to  the  wife,  "A  b(-auteous  maid  in  truth 
You  give  to  serve  us.     I'hat  young  man,  forsooth. 
Has,  as  you  see,  no  eyes  for  food,  because 
They  worsliip  elsewhere  with  a  mute  applause. 
Nay !  is  she  gone  ?     I  ^poke  with  little  grace. 
Else  had  not  scared  her  from  her  'customed  I'lace." 


17 


i 


1 


^-^TiaMiai 


r^} 


18 


QUIDO  AND  LIT  A: 


Then  said  the  wife,  "Oh,  sir,  we  do  not  heed 
If  her  fair  looks  to  admiration  lead 
With  such  great  folks  as  yon,  who  cannot  care 
For  fisher  maidens,  with  your  ladies  rare ; 
But  oftentimes,  when  neighbours  come  about, 
They  find  my  welcome  marred  by  anxious  doubt." 
And  Guido  smiled,  but  could  not  laugh  away 
The  spell  of  silence  that  upon  him  lay. 

When,  turning  from  old  Carlo's  poor  abode, 
The  knights  again  together  homeward  strode. 
So  s{  range  the  feeling  that  within  found  birth, 
It  seemed  to  him  he  scarcely  walked  the  earth. 

One  thoufrht  could  only  claim  his  wondering  mind, 
Alone  once  more  that  humble  hearth  to  find. 
Alone  once  more  that  radiant  face  to  scan. 
And  prove  the  charm,  as  when  it  first  began. 

Ah !  who  can  tell,  when  thus  the  will  is  swayed. 
And  to  emotion's  dangerous  train  is  laid. 
The  torch,  that  love  or  passion  each  can  fire. 
What  hidden  issue  waits  the  heart's  desire  ? 
What  little  grains  the  balance  may  control, 
E'en  though  it  shape  the  fortune  of  the  soul, 
That,  by  its  fervid  longings  all  possessed, 
Yeprns  for  the  secrets  of  another's  breast ; 


m\ 


A  TALE  OF  THE  RIVIERA. 

Would  live  or  die,  but  iu  tlie  sight  of  one 

Wlio  to  its  being,  seems  tlie  central  sun, 

■Without  whose  presence  every  scene  is  drear— 

The  world  a.  desert,  haunted  but  with  fear! 

Who  from  the  scroll  of  Fate  may  knowledge  wring 

Of  the  first  birth  of  Life's  mysterious  spring, 

What  is  the  nature  that  so  soon  has  grown  °' 

A  potent  tide,  on  Avhich  our  bark  is  thrown? 

Ah !  who  can  tell  if  noblest  impulse  lies 

Within  the  magic  of  the  meeting  eyes, 

Or,  if  the  ruin  of  a  life  be  where 

The  light  falls  softest  on  some  golden  hair? 

The  knights  of  Orles  regained  the  lofty  keep. 
When,  sinking  slowly  on  the  purj^led  deep. 
The  sun  still  lingered  on  the  bannered  tow'ei-. 
Though  evening  on  the  shore  now  showed  her  power 
And  bathed  it  deeply  in  the  twihght  hour. 


19 


J 


20 


GUmO  AND  LIT  A, 


HOUGH  tlie  dark  watches  of  tlie  silent  niglit 

Must  awe  the  soul  that  marks  their  solemn  ilight, 
AVheu    myriad   worlds,  through    boundless   ethei 
rolled 

Their  steadfast  orbs,  or  trembling  stars  unfold ; 

And  yon  bright  Mystery  that  in  waning,  proves 

Her  sway  more  potent,  than  the  floods  she  moves, 

Streaks  with  quick  fire  the  rebel  billows'  foam, 

When  'neatli  the  rule  of  rival  storms  they  roam  ; 

Or  looks  serenely  down,  when  calms  display 

Her  image,  multiplied  in  long  array, 

And  o'er  the  waters,  manacled  in  sleep, 

Casts  her  white  arm,  as  mistress  of  the  deep  ; — 

Yet  are  these  hours  the  little  space  our  mind 

Regards  as  lulling  into  rest  mankind  : 

They  seem  the  pauses  in  our  endless  strife. 

The  only  hours  allowing  peace,  and  life  ; 

Oblivion  comes  to  dull  the  subtlest  brain 

That  schemes  for  honour,  or  has  plotted  pain, 

Within  these  hours,  that  seem  alone  to  beat 

With  no  fierce  pulses  and  no  fevered  heat. 


A  TALE  OF  THE  lilVIERA. 

And  tliougli  this  be  not ;  and  tlie  night  conceives 
Tilings  that  the  wondering  inor:x  accepts,  believes  : 
Yet  is  her  time  less  awful  than  the  glow 
Of  eastern  skies,  that  in  their  brightening  show 
The  coming  of  the  day,  for  weal,  or  woe. 

Though  still  the  air,  and  chill,— behold,  behold 

The  hues  of  saffron  deej^ening  into  gold ; 

Save  Avhere  a  sapi3liire  band  on  ocean's  bed 

Along  the  far  horizon  lies  outspread. 

The  heaving  surface  takes  the  tints  on  high, 

And  wakes  its  pallor  to  a  kindred  dje ; 

A  moment  more,  and  from  the  dusky  hill 

The  vapours  fall,  the  lower  glens  to  till ; 

Then  fade  from  thence  in  many  ;,    hanging  shape. 

To  clasp  the  feet  of  every  jutting  cape ; 

Till  the  tall  cliii^'  descent  into  the  sea 

Is  merged  in  mist,  that  makes  them  seem  to  be 

Raised  like  the  prows  of  galleys,  that  of  yore 

Stretched  their  proud  beaks  above  the  surges'  roar. 

Another  instant,  and  each  doubtful  shade 

Melts  and  then  vanishes,  as  though  afraid 

Of  the  great  blaze,  unbearable,  the  sun 

Sends  o'er  the  world,  proclaiming  Day  begun. 

His  reign  is  come,  to  last  from  morn  till  eve, 
Within  whose  limits  many  live  to  weave 


21 


■B 


22 


GUIDO  AND  LITA: 


The  fateful  actions  few  can  e'er  retrieve  : 
His  span  of  light,  in  which  they  can  pursue 
The  petty  plans  that  fill  their  narrow  view  ; 
That  yet  have  scope  enough,  through  love  or  hate, 
To  make  their  working  to  their  felhnvs  great, 
And  in  God's  scales  to  place  another  weight ! 

Let  the  light  shine  on  those,  above  whose  graves 
The  deathless  laurel  of  fond  memory  waves, 
Wlio,  though  their  age  has  passed  away  so  long 
Live  in  the  glories  of  their  country's  song. 
Let  us  then  know  the  scenes,  where  varying  fate 
With  partial  hand,  apportioned  their  estate. 


But  ere  we  reach  the  castle,  note  how  well 

The  steep  approach  a  foe's  attack  could  quell. 

'Twr.-^  not  alone  the  battlemented  wall, 

With  frequent  tower,  from  whence  the  shot  might  fall ; 

But  every  dwelling,  in  each  close-built  street. 

Seemed  half  designed  such  venture  to  defeat. 

High-storied,  oft  they  over-arched  the  way 

That,  lost  beneath  them,  scarce  could  see  the  day 

For  many  a  gloomy  stretch  ;  and  when  at  last 

It  seemed  the  devious  labyrinth  was  passed, 

'Twas  only  for  a  moment  that  the  sky 

Might  look  upon  its  course  of  mystery ; 

(Save  where  before  an  ancient  church  there  played, 


i  li|i: 


A  TALE  OF  THE  RIVIERA. 


23 


In  a  broad  space,  a  fountain's  bright  cascade  ;) 

For,  quickly  buried,  it  was  hid  until, 

Be^'ond  the  town,  it  climbed  again  the  hill. 

Through  the  thick  maze,  a  busy  hive,  close-pent, 

Wound  narrow  tracks,  that  seemed  where'er  they  went 

With  women,  children,  men,  and  mules,  alive : 

Some  would  pass  quickly  onward,  but  to  dive 

Beneath  the  vaulted  arches ;  wives  would  spin 

Chattering  in  doorways  ;  while,  around,  the  din 

Of  little  urchins  rose,  high  shrilled,  and  clear, 

Redoubled  at  the  sight  of  muleteer. 

But  hushed  as  knights  and  guards  came  trampling  near. 

Close  to  the  summit  of  the  peopled  ridge 
The  road  led  suddenly  to  where  a  bridge 
Across  a  deep  ravine,  was  lightly  set. 
Thin-arched  and  high,  and  void  of  parapet, 
It  spanned  the  chasm  to  the  rough  rock  throne, 
From  which  the  castle's  mighty  limbs  had  grown. 


No  barbican  o'erlooked  the  natural  moat : 

The  way  leaped  straight  into  the  fortress'  throat. 

The  entrance  through  a  square-built  pile  was  bored, 

Where,  on  each  flank,  a  rounded  bastion  soared. 

Their  massive  face  of  masonry  but  showed 

A  casement,  here  and  there,  toward  the  road. 

But,  circHng  inner  courts,  wide  galleries  ran, 


i 


24 


OUIDO  AND  LITA: 


"Wliore  tlirougli  the  open  -windows  one  might  scan 
The  halls  and  stairways  of  the  inner  plan. 
Throughout  the  spaces  near  the  2X)nderous  gate 
Old  halberdiers  and  armoured  followers  wait : 
They  guard  the  passages  and  line  the  hall 
For  stately  trial  or  high  festival ; 
Wlien  to  give  sentence,  or  to  pass  decree, 
The  knight  was  seated  'neath  the  canopy 
Betokening  feudal  sway,  that  only  saAV 
Justice  in  him  who  made,  and  dealt  the  law. 


Wliat  is  possession  of  high  place,  or  state, 

To  him  who,  mocked  by  a  pursuing  fate, 

E'en  in  his  genius  finds  a  dangerous  bar 

To  turn  his  steps  from  Fortune's  trembling  star ; 

The  finer  temper  that  should  make  him  rise 

To  be  the  leader  in  some  great  emprise  ; 

To  point  the  path,  though  mountains  interpose, 

To  days  of  glory  that  no  night  may  close ; 

May  w^arp  to  tame  fastidiousness,  and  wake 

Loathing  of  tools,  he  might  have  used  to  make 

His  phantom  fancy  change  to  sober  truth. 

The  easy  nature,  born  of  affluent  youth. 

To  be  content  with  all  around,  lest  change 

Shall  bring  upon  him  things  unloved  and  strange, 

May  wake  no  passion  for  the  prompt  redress 

Of  wrongs  he  only  hears  have  "wi'ought  distress ; 


"  Till  the  tall  cliffs'  degceiit  into  the  sea 
Is  mersed  in  mist,  that  makes  them  seem  to  be 
Raised  like  the  prows  of  paileys,  thiit  ol  yore 
Stretched  their  carved  beaks  above  the  surges'  roar  " 


[Page  24. 

* 


I 


I 


A  TALE  OF  THE  lilVIEIiA. 

Altliou^^li  if  aid  by  clamorous  grief  bo  sought 
Hor  piteous  cry  may  wake  to  work  and  tliouglit. 

No  cliance  had  spurred  young  Guido  to  forget 

The  selfish  aims  to  whieh  his  wishes  set. 

His  father's  rule,  like  some  uncouth  machine, 

Creaked  at  its  task,  but  worked  in  dull  routine. 

He  hardly  shared  its  burdens,  for  the  chaso 

Gave  him  in  sport  at  least  a  better  place, 

And  often  would  his  spear,  haft-driven,  quell 

The  rage  of  boar  or  wolf  on  mountain  f(;ll. 

Yet  lonely  now,  his  part  he  would  not  bear 

In  scenes  of  pl(!asure,  or  in  days  of  care. 

Old  friends,  old  joys,  could  give  his  life  no  zest, 

Though  to  such  charge  his  words  had  ne'er  confessed. 

In  restlessness  and  yearning  vain  he  spent 

A  time,  when  feigned  hilarity  was  blent 

With  hours  of  brooding,  on  his  thoughts  intent. 

How  could  he  meet  her,  so  that  all  unseen 
His  glance  could  rest  upon  her  face  and  mien  ; 
That  none  should  watch,  or  rally  with  a  jest, 
The  sense  tliat  gladdened  him,  and  yet  oppressed  ? 
He  had  not  even  heard  her  speak,  then  why 
Dream  that  the  voice  would  flow  in  harmony, 
Nor  give  the  ideal  of  his  heart  the  lie, 
Betraying  aught  to  break  its  sympathy  ? 


25 


'  >1 


m 


26 


QUIDO  AND  LITA: 


What  folli(5a,  treason,  idle  doubts,  wore  tlioso ! 
Whato'cr  the  tone — how  could  Hho  spoak  but  please  ? 
From  the  fair  lips  that  curved  like  Cupid's  bow, 
Love's  lightning  darts  through  all  she  said  must  flow. 
What,  though  the  eyes  no  look  responsive  gave  ? 
'Twas  all  he  asked  again  their  light  to  crave. 

So,  stealing  furtively  away,  once  more 
Ho  passed  to  where  along  the  gleaming  shore 
The  waves,  like  vassals  of  an  eastern  king, 
In  lengthened  lines,  continuous,  came  to  fling 
Their  load  of  diamond  and  of  opal  down. 

And  as  he  quickly  strode  to  clutch  the  cro^vn 
Of  his  heart's  hope,  it  was  as  if  for  lord 
The  Avhole  creation  knew  him,  and  adored. 

So  wild  the  tumult  of  his  throbbing  brain  ; 
It  seemed  the  waters  of  that  mastering  main 
But  chanted  songs  that  urged  him  to  aspire 
Until  their  motions  owned  but  his  desire  ; 
Whate'er  his  wishes'  course,  an  answering  God 
Would  smooth  it  level  as  the  sands  he  trod. 

Thus  did  his  thoughts  run  riot  till,  afloat 
Within  three  bowshots  of  the  beach,  a  boat 
With  only  one  within  it,  could  be  seen. 


■■>"w;yj*MpnBiT»r.'! 


A  TALE  OF  THE  PdVIERA. 

Then  inland  moving,  till  lio  reached  a  screen 
Of  tumbled  rock  and  wof)d,  he  saw  below 
A  row  of  fishers,  who,  with  labour  slow, 
Dragf,^cd  heavily  their  nets'  sea-ladeu  length. 
And,  drawing  nearer,  he  could  see  their  strength 
Was  guided  by  the  single  boatman's  call, 
Who  cried  to  them  to  slacken  or  to  haul.' 
And  further  off,  along  the  bay,  api)eared 
Another  group  like  theirs,  that  slowly  neared, 
As  at  the  net's  still  great,  but  narrrowing,  curve 
They  pulled  with  rival  force  and  weary  nerve. 

'Twas  Carlo's  voice  commanded  them  ;  and  soon 
In  the  fuU  brightness  of  the  blazing  noon, 
Guido  saw  Lita  standing  on  the  shore. 

Upon  her  head  and  o'er  her  brow  she  wore 
A  kerchief,  pure  and  whit<s  to  turn  tlie  glare. 
From  under  which,  es(  .r^intr,  the  dark  h!air   ' 
In  long  rich  tresses,  flowed  upon  the  vest 
That  clothed  her  form  from  ankle  unto  breast. 

Poised  on  white  foot  that,  light  as  foam-flake,  fell 
Where  sea  and  land  in  common  came  to  dweU, 
She  moved,  encouraging  with  bhthest  cheer 
Each  laggard  loitering  at  the  toilsome  gear. 
Sometimes  her  little  hand  would  even  twine 


27 


28 


GUinO  AND  LITA. 


A  cord,  loop-liciudlod,  round  tlio  great  ropo  lino, 
And  lior  sliglit  aid,  through  their  redoubled  powtn*, 
Would  shorten  wondrously  the  arduous  hour  ; 
Until  at  last,  the  scanty  harvest  reaped. 
Its  silvery  piles  upon  the  shore  vrero  -heaped. 

H(>  had  not  thought  to  meet  her  thus  among 
Her  kin  and  neighhours,  and  his  sense  was  stung 
By  a  commingling  of  delight  and  doubt. 
He  could  not  dwt>ll  upon  hev  ways  without 
A  shade  of  jealousy ;  for  though  the  voice 
Kang  in  his  ears,  and  bade  his  soul  rejoice. 
He  had  but  pictured  her  in  quiet  home, 
Not  as  one  loving  hero  and  there  to  roam ; 
Taking  her  part  in  harsher  task,  and  made 
A  joy  to  many,  but  too  oft  displayed. 


And  yet  what  modesty  of  manner  glowed 
Through  the  quick  nature  tliat  her  gesture  showixl ; 
What  honest  impulse  'mid  the  girlish  grace 
Lived  in  her  word  and  shone  within  her  face  ; 
E'en  from  her  lips,  when  merriest  laughter  broke, 
WImt  innate  dignity  her  bearing  spoke ! 


She  was  not  born  to  live  her  life  away 
In  circuit  bounded  by  her  native  bay ; 
That  beauty  was  not  made  to  be  the  joy 


A  TALE  OF  THE  RIVIERA. 

Of  common  licrdsman  or  of  fislicr-boy ; 
Surely  from  such  companiousliip  to  win 
Her  sweet  affection,  w(?ro  no  mortal  sin  ? 
Let  liim  then  pass  into  tlio  woods,  and  wait 
Until  she  came  to  seal  his  wavering  fate. 

Alone  he  panscnl  where,  throngh  the  olive  grove, 
He  saw  the  dwelling  he  had  learned  to  love  ; 
The  door  that  opened  to  the  lower  space, 
Where  first  he  looked  npon  her  witching  fact^ ; 
The  outward  stair  that  gained,  still  n(\ar  the  sod, 
The  upper  chamber  thnt  her  feet  had  trod  ; 
The  tinted  plaster  and  the  narrow  roof, 
Where  heavy  tiles  to  wind  and  rain  were  proof; 
The  gnarled  and  twisted  trees  tliat  round  it  rose, 
As  if  to  guard  its  shelter  and  repose  ; 
The  dusky  foliage  where  they  thickly  grew, 
And  chequered  shade  upon  its  brightni^ss  threw. 


29 


And  soon  along  the  pathway  he  could  mark 
Her  form  approaching  'n(\ith  the  shadows  dark ; 
And  w^aiting  by  its  margin,  he  could  see 
She  slackened  her  ipiick  step  reluctantly  : 
Then  made  as  though  to  pass  him,  and  haste  on 
To  w^here  her  Innne  witli  friendly  Avelcomo  shone. 
When,  doffing  his  plumed  hat  with  courteous  grace 
And  joyous  look,  he  met  her  face  to  face. 


^i  -*- 


sag 


30 


OUIDO  AND  LIT  A. 


Vain  as  he  was,  lie  felt  at  first  unmanned 
By  the  calm  glance  that  all  his  motions  scanned , 
But  when  she  slowly  answered  his  good  cheer 
With  morning  greeting,  he  forgot  his  fear, 
And  questioned,  "Whither  went  she?"     "To  prepare 
For  those  who  thro'  the  day  have  laboured  where 
Yon  path  does  lead." — "Come  they  then  soon  to  thee?" 
"Yea,  if  they  get  enough  from  out  the  sea." 
"  Thou  canst  then  give  them  all  for  which  they  care  ?  " 
"Nay,  Sir,  you  know  how  humble  is  our  fare." 
"To  me  it  seemed  a  feast ^for  any  prince." 
"  Our  pride,  indeed,  has  risen  higher,  since 
Your  gracious  father  said  that  he  was  pleased." 
"And  wilt  thou  not  believe  that  I  was  seized 
With  gratitude  to  her,  who,  like  the  sun 
Shone,  when  the  storm  dominion  would  have  won  ?  " 
"  Oh,  Sir,  3'ou  flatter  me,"  she  said,  and  then, 
"  But  I  must  onward,  or  my  father's  men 
Will  find  nought  ready.     Sir,  I  must  begone." — 
"Nay,  have  my  words  so  little  favour  won, 
Thou  wilt  not  offer  me  again  some  food  ?  " — 
"If  you  desire  it.     'Twould  indeed  be  rude, 
.And  'gainst  my  father's  wish  to  close  our  door." — 
"It  is  but  for  a  moment,  and  the  store 
Of  thy  sweet  grace,  is  all  I  now  implore." — 
She  laughed,  and  then,  with  grave  and  silent  mien. 
Led  on,  ho  following,  o'er  the  herbage  green. 


A  TALE  OF  THE  BIVIERA. 


31 


And  tlms  lie  entered,  witli  a  heart  tliat  beat, 
The  house  wherein  agam  her  busy  feet 
Moved,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  in  music  sweet. 
And  as  he  sat,  and  watched  how  order  grew 
Beneath  her  fingers,  as  they  deftly  drew 
Her  tasks  to  end ;  her  every  look  and  word 
His  passion  deepened,  and  his  wonder  stirred. 
How  could  such  blossom  grow  on  salted  soil, 
Such  bloom  and  beauty  from  a  race  of  toil. 
Such  grace  and  colour  near  the  deadening  spray  ? 
In  childish  days  he  heard  the  sailors  say 
That  wondrous  flowers  were  fostered  by  the  ray 
That  burned  on  Afric's  coast,  and  glowing  leaves 
Burst  from  the  pricklj^  j)lants  in  dazzling  sheaves, 
Clo.:5e  to  pale  breakers  of  a  fearful  sea. 


Such  virion  rose  within  his  mind  as  he 

Noted  her  actions  ; — told  her  how  his  thought 

Had,  since  he  saw  her,  his  lone  spirit  brought 

To  be  a  sojourner,  as  now,  beneath 

Her  roof ;  marked  how  a  fleeting  blush  would  breaths 

An  instant's  brighter  colour  on  her  cheek ; 

But  pride  or  coyness  would  not  let  her  speak 

Reproof  or  pleasure.     Then  he  drank  to  her 

Of  wine  she  offered,  that  he  might  aver 

Her  happiness  was  now  his  life's  desire. 

His  hope  to  please  her  lived, — a  boa  m  fire. 


32 


GUIBO  AND  LITA: 


Then  finding  answer  none,  lie  sought  to  know 

How  simple  ways  could  sucli  distinction  sliow. 

He  hearkened,  half  amused,  as  she  would  paint 

In  artless  phrases  how  some  favourite  saint 

"Upon  the  day  named  after  him,  had  blessed 

With  draught  of  fish,  miraculous  (confessed 

As  such  by  e'en  the  very  Priest  himself), 

The  household  nets  ; — and  thus,  though  for  such  pelf, 

All  knew  the  Father  cared  not,  he  had  ta'en 

Some  coin  and  half  the  fish,  lest  luck  were  vain, 

To  buy  a  picture  of  the  circumstance, 

Wrought  by  a  youth  whose  f?me  he  would  advance  ;  — 

The  Yirgin-Mother  watching  from  a  cloud 

The  happy  fishermen  and  clamorous  crowd ; — 

To  hang  upon  the  chapel's  wall.     And  more  : 

At  the  last  feast  the  candles  borne  before 

The  holy  Father  came  from  this,  their  wenltli ; 

Besides,  what  more  went  to  the  Church's  health." 

"But  'tis  not  from  your  nets,"  he  said,  "alone 
You  get  your  living,  for  you  surely  own 
These  trees  that  far  around  the  sunlight  break  ?  " 
"No,  no,"  she  answered,  "'tis  but  ours  to  shake 
Tlieir  laden  1  ranches  with  the  tapering  cane 
And  cause  the  olives'  fall  of  fruitful  rain ; 
To  gather  them  in  baskets  till  they  fill 
The  dusty  flooring  of  the  busy  mill. 


A  TALE  OF  THE  BIVIEEA. 


33 


But  in  a  little  garden,  all  mine  own, 

Some  beauteous  palms,  beloved  of  God,  have  grown, 

And  of  tlieir  drooping  fringes  I  may  keep 

Some  liere,  to  graee  the  day  of  those  who  sleep 

In  martyrs'  graves  beyond  the  echoing  deep  : 

Some  for  their  jjlace  of  martyrdom,  I  sell 

To  those,  they  say,  who  near  their  ashes  dwell." 

He,  asking  where  this  Eden  garden  lay  ? 

Watched  her  fair  figure  outlined  'gainst  the  day 

That,  through  the  open  window  near  him,  shone ; 

And  let  her  eager  speech,  unchecked,  flow  on, 

As  with  her  lifted  hand,  she  pointed  where 

A  palm-tree  shot  aloft  to  woo  the  glare : 

Then  showed  each  spot  in  narrow  circidt  round, 

Where  traces  of  her  simple  life  were  found. 


But  breaking  through  the  tale  of  her  content, 
His  stifled  longing  to  her  ear  now  sent 
Its  tones  of  praise,  with  ftjnd  entreaty  blent : 
And  reaching  out  his  arm  that  he  might  hold 
Her  hand,  or  only  of  h(^r  dress  a  fold 
She  shrank  away  from  him, — if  not  with  fear. 
Yet  with  a  start,  as  timid  as  the  deer 
Who  first  has  seen  the  long-accustomed  food 
Offered  by  strangers,  and  in  doubtful  mood 
Retires,  distrustful  for  a  space,  to  gaze 
If  it  spy  danger  in  their  novel  ways. 
3 


34 


GUIDO  AND  LIT  A, 


So  in  surprise,  but  feeling  no  dismay, 

She  stood  and  listened,  for  on  many  a  day, 

Her  ears  Lad  lieard  the  youths  around  her  say 

All  that  they  thought  would  flatter  or  would  please. 

Till  she  ne'er  wondered  at  such  praise  from  these. 

But  he  had  startled  her,  and  would  have  chased 

Away  the  harsh  remembrance  of  his  haste 

By  soothing  words  ;  but  as  she  silent  stood. 

They  heard  the  fishers  coming  through  the  wood, 

"With  noise  confused  within  its  solitude  : 

And  whispering  he  would  see  her  soon,  he  sped 

Through  tracks  again  that  to  the  castle  led. 

Thus  first  did  Guido  drink  of  what  ho  sought. 
Yet  was  he  lili;e  a  thirsty  wanderer,  brought 
To  some  rich  fountain,  rising  in  delight, 
A  rainbowed  pillar  to  the  raptured  sight, 
That  falls  again  in  such  a  gentle  s]3ray 
Within  a  basm  broadening  to  the  day, 
That  scarce  a  ripple  comes  to  SAveep  away 
The  face  reflected  on  its  surface,  where 
Unto  the  eager  lips,  the  hands  would  bear 
The  copious  treasure,  of  the  guest  aware. 


He  looked  upon  her  beauty,  and  admired : 
He  drank  therein  of  joy  as  he  desired ; 
But  while  he  stooped,  his  wishes  to  fulfil. 
Himself  he  saw,  and  Self  was  master  still. 


A  TALE  OF  TUE  lUVlEBA. 

His  pride  untutored,  and  by  time  unbent. 
Saw  in  lier  silence  only  lier  consent ; 
Ecad  in  lier  blushes'  consciousness  alone 
Tlie  sign  of  feelings,  lie  niiglit  make  Lis  own  ; 
Believed,  (and  half  of  what  he  thought  was  truth,) 
That  victory  waited  on  his  brilliant  youth  ; 
And  with  no  shame  there  passed  before  his  view 
That  poorest  triumph  man  can  o'er  pursue  : 
The  careless  conquest  of  affections  true 
That  woman  gives,  not  knoAving  she  may  rue ! 

Already,  almost  to  herself  unknown, 

An  interest  in  her  breast  for  him  had  grown ; 

And  with  surprise  she  sometimes  found  her  thought 

Muse  on  the  morning  that  his  presence  brought. 

And  sought  to  check  the  question  that  would  rise 

How  next  to  meet  the  searching  of  his  eyes  ; 

Denying  he  would  come,  and  if  he  came, 

By  silence  she  would  prove  her  will  the  same. 


And  for  a  while  it  thus  to  him  appeared, 
As  often  now  that  olive  grove  he  neared 
To  intercept  her  on  her  homeward  way. 
And  no  persuasion  could  her  footstep  stay. 
Yet  had  his  manners,  that  with  ease  combined, 
A  pride  by  grace  and  gentleness  refined, 
Shown  her  the  roughness  of  her  fisher-folk, 


PIP 


36 


OUIDO  AND  LIT  A: 


Coiitrastecl  with  the  world  to  which  she  woke ; 
And  his  society  had  in  time  snppHcd 
A  lofty  standard  by  which  all  were  tried. 

What  wonder  then,  that  she  could  not  deny 
That  pleasure  came  with  knowledge  ho  Avas  nigh  ? 
No  words  of  hers  were  uttered  to  persuade 
That  lingering  partings  should  be  yet  delayed ; 
Perhaps  because  she  saw  such  conduct  made 
The  moments  lengthen  as  he,  dallying,  stayed ! 

Still  he,  in  blindness,  could  not  comprehend 
Whence  came  the  firmness  that  to  her  could  lend 
Such  strength  of  character,  until  the  flame 
That  still  consumed  him,  though  it  seemed  the  same, 
Changed^  with  the  light  by  admiration  given. 
To  wear  the  radiance  honour  takes  from  heaven ! 
And  with  the  homage  that  his  bearing  spoke. 
In  time  her  shy  reserve  was  loosed,  and  broke. 
Frank  had  she  ever  been,  in  all  beside 
Tlie  feelings  sacred  to  a  maiden's  pride. 
Open  and  true,  e'en  these  were  not  concealed, 
When  safety  whispered,  they  might  stand  revealed. 


But  the  calm  will,  though  shaken  on  its  throne, 
Still  held  the  empire  of  her  mind  alone,      R 
And  gave  sad  answers  to  the  doubts  that  pressed, 


A  TALE  OF  THE  BIVIEUA. 

AirI  with  mitimely  grief  lier  life  clistressocl. 
How  could  it  profit  liiin  that  she  should  love 
One  placed  by  fortune  such  regard  above  ? 
"Would  it  not  hurt  him,  rather,  thus  to  bend 
And  to  her  level,  from  his  own,  descend  ? 
Woidd  his  afiection,  now  so  fervent,  last ; 
Contempt  not  come  when  novelty  had  passed ; 
If  from  his  eyes  the  scales  at  length  were  cast  ? 

Thus  tortured  by  misgiving;-?  that  but  gi'CAV 
Stronger,  the  nearer  to  his  love  she  drew. 
Faithful  to  that  she  deemed  would  serve  him  most, 
She  sought  no  more  the  pathway  to  the  coast ; 
But  would  have  hid  herself,  lest  she  might  fill 
And  mar  his  life  with  some  imagined  ill. 
'Twas  therefore  long  before  he  could  succeed 
Again  his  cause  with  earnest  tones  to  plead  : 
When  to  his  sorrow,  coldness  seemed  to  reign 
AVitliin  the  breast  where  tender  love  had  lain. 
And  crushed  beneath  the  unexpected  pain, 
Tears,  and  upbraiding,  and  re^jroauh,  had  sprung, 
From  the  full  heart,  with  pain  and  passion  wrung. 


37 


HI 


V 


% 


Then  roughly  tried,  there  fled,  dispelled  at  length, 
The  false  illusion  of  her  borrowed  strength. 
To  see  him  thus  was  more  than  she  could  bear. 
"Think  not,"  she  cried,  "my  words  betray  no  care  ; 


38 


OUIDO  AND  LIT  A: 


But  what  wild  folly  were  it,  did  I  daro 

Thy  lordly  home,  thy  mighty  name,  to  share  ? 

The  Mcorn  of  kindred,  and  the  strangers'  smile, 

Would  mark  the  action  thou  must  soon  revile. 

God  placed  me  here  because  He  knows  I  may 

Lighten  with  joy  my  parents'  waning  day. 

HoAv  could  I  be  an  honour  to  thy  race, 

A  lowly  weed  transplanted  from  its  place  ? 

Nay,  hear  me.  Knight,  for  though  my  words  are  weak 

'Tis  only  for  th}'  good  I  dare  to  speak ; 

And  when  a  j-ear  has  run  its  destined  round, 

A  change,  perchance,  will  in  th}^  thoughts  be  found. 

Oh,  leave  me — go  ! — nor  let  the  memory  live 

Of  one  unworthy  of  the  love  you  give." 


"You  trust  me  not,"  he  answered,  "Lita,  mine, — 

For  mine  I  call  t^  .eo, — since  no  force  divine 

I  know,  would  ever  part  us  ;  and  if  Hell 

Rise  in  dark  legions,  my  pure  love  to  quell, 

AVliat  banded  might  shall  overthrow  the  pride 

This  year  shall  give  mo,  wdicn  I  call  thee  bride. 

Be  my  request  but  this  :  'Tis  not  to  hide. 

Nor  move  from  hence,  if  thus  my  troth  be  tried." 

"'Tis  best,"  she  faltered,  "that  thou  come  not  here." — 

"No  power  shall  keep  me  from  a  place  so  dear," 

He  said ;  and  ere  a  week  was  passed,  his  eye 

Looked  on  the  scene,  in  wonder,  to  descry 


A  TALE  OF  THE  lilVIEEA. 


39 


Groups  of  tlio  peasants  scattered  'neatli  the  trees  ; 
And  crowds  that  stood  around  tlio  door,  and  these 
Seemed  scared ;  for,  wafted  on  the  breezy  air 
Rose  the  shrill  plaint,  and  murmur  of  despair. 

Some  carrif'd  household  goods,  and  women's  tears 
Flowed  on,  unheeding  e'en  the  children's  fears. 
Others,  from  where  a  vessel,  anchored,  lay. 
Landed  in  haste,  and  hurrying  made  their  way, 
Some  to  the  woods,  and  some  along  the  shore, 
As  though  in  peril  safety  to  implore. 

Then,  stopping  one  who  seemed  in  sore  distress, 

Guido  demanded,  "Wherefore  do  ye  press 

Onward,  as  though  a  foe  were  on  your  track?  " 

The  man,  in  silent  horror,  pointed  back 

To  distant  headlands,  where  arose  a  black 

And  spreading  vapour  he  could  well  discern  : 

Then  cried,  "  O  sec'st  thou  not  our  houses  burn  ? 

The  murdering  fiends — O  may  their  names  be  cursed ! 

Upon  our  sleeping  towns  at  night  have  burst. 

And  all  are  massacred  who  could  not  fly !  " 

"Take  courage,"  said  the  knight,  "our  force  is  nigh." 

"Yea,"  said  the  fugitive,  "we  know  our  lives 

Here,  at  the  least,  are  safe  from  murderous  knives ; 

But'We,  pursued  by  sorrow  and  by  fear 

Have  lost  the  joys  that  made  them  once  so  dear. 


,  -*p 


I 


40 


OUIDO  AND  LITA. 


Would  that  a  wider  space  than  this  domain, 
Wi'ii!  guarded  bj  the  men  none  daro  di.s*         ' 
'Tis  k)ng  indeed,  we  know,  since  Orles  ha    .seen 
The  fires  of  pilhige  light  her  nights  serene." 

Returning  with  the  people,  who  now  sought 
Friendshiji,  and  shelter,  in  their  state  distraught. 
He  heard  from  many  of  their  hard  escape, 
Whom  Death  had  menaced  in  his  direst  shape. 


'Twas  from  the  UKmntains  that  the  heathen  horde 

Upon  the  smiling  lliviera  poured. 

Within  a  district,  where  deceitful  Peace 

Had  blunted  arms,  as  though  their  use  ^  ^    c  cease. 

But  for  the  darkness  all  had  been  undone  : 

Their  ship  had  saved  them  ere  the  place  was  won, 

And  the  bright  flames,  ascending,  had  begun 

To  guide  the  hunters,  like  a  midnight  sun. 

Soon  round  the  walls,  and  hospitably  fed, 

The  victims  told  full  oft  their  tale  of  dread ; 

Or,  harboured  by  the  townsmen,  scarce  believed 

Their  safety  certain,  or  their  lives  reprieved. 

And  ever  ministering  to  those  in  need, 

Lita  wrought  daily  many  a  holy  deed. 


But  loud  and  fierce  among  the  exiles  rose 


iD 


The  cry  for  vengeance,  on  their  cruel  foes, 


A  TALE  OF  THE  ItlVIERA. 

As  ever  greater  grew  tlio  ravage  made 
In  distant  liomestt^'ids,  wlun'o  tlie  rol)bers'  raid 
Drew  gold  <>r  Mood,  at  will,  from  men  dismayed, 
And  e'en  to  fight  in  tluur  d(^fence  afraid  : 
Surely  the  knight  of  Orles  will  rjiise  his  hand 
And  be  the  saviour  of  a  grateful  land  ? 

Yet  soon  they  found  their  hope  had  woke  in  vain  : 

"These  people  were  not  his ;  not  his  their  pain  ; 

They  must  not  cumber  his  industrious  folk. 

They  might  remain  a  httle.     Then  the  yoke 

Of  Saracen  or  Pirate  by  the  stroke 

Of  their  own  hands  nnist  perish.     AYhy  should  he 

Arm  for  the  men  who  knew  but  how  to  flee ; 

Who  for  themselves  should  learn  that  woes  but  yield, 

When  swords,  not  tongues  are  loosed,  to  win  the  field." 

And  Guido  did  not  urge  their  suit,  his  own 

Was  in  his  thoughts  ;  and  these  were  fed  alone 

By  envious  musings,  how  he  might  prevail 

That  Lita  should  not  hearken  to  the  wail 

Of  these  poor  wretches,  through  tlie  livelong  day. 

He  hated  them  that  they  should  turn  away 

Her  mind  from  him.     And  thus  a  month  was  passed 

In  idling  leisure,  till  the  Moors  at  last 

Were  said  to  be  no  longer  in  the  land 

And  few  remained  of  all  the  ruined  band 

Who  sought  in  Orles  for  safety  or  for  aid. 


41 

* 


IP 


42 


GUIDO  AND  LTTA 


But  amongst  tliesc,  a  youth  tho  crowd  outstayed, 
"Wlio  oft  liad  clieorcd  tliom  as  lie  bravely  played 
To  rhyming  song  the  strings  of  his  guitar. 
He  told  of  love,  of  cliivalry  in  war. 
Of  feats  that  made  world-famous  oft  of  yore 
The  name  Provence  through  lustrous  ages  bore ; 
And  noting  with  contemjit  and  fierce  disdain 
The  knights'  indifference  to  their  want  and  pain, 
Now  'neath  the  casemate  of  their  proud  abode, 
fie  poured  the  verso  that  told  his  sorrow's  load ; 
And  boldly  thus,  though  helpless,  robbed,  and  poor, 
EiUiig  thy  reproach,  thou  gallant  troubadour  ! 


I. 

Noble  names,  if  nobly  borne, 

Live  Avithin  a  nation's  heart : 
If  of  such  thou  bearer  be. 
Never  let  that  name  for  thee 
Point  the  scorn ! 


n. 

Shrined  within  its  narrow  bound 

Other  liojocs  than  thine  have  part ; 
For  it  once  in  life  was  theirs. 
Who  from  weight  of  earthly  cares 
Peace  have  found  I 


A  TALE  OF  THE  JilVIEEA. 

in. 

Tlioy  who  wore  it,  free  from  blamo, 

Het  on  Honour's  .splendid  lieiglit, 
Watch,  as  spirits,  if  its  place 
Love  the  night,  or  daylight's  face,— 
Shame,  or  Fame. 


43 


IV. 


'Tis  a  preeions  heritage  : 

Next  io  love  of  God,  a  niiglit 
That  shonld  i,lant  thy  foot,  where  stood 
Of  thy  race  the  great  and  good, 


All  thine  age  I 


V. 

Yet  remember !  'tis  a  crown 

That  can  hardly  be  thine  o^vn, 
Till  thou  win  it  by  some  deed 
That  with  glory  fresh  shall  food 
Thcii-  renown  I 


VI. 


Piido  of  lineage,  pomp  of  power, 
Heap  disjionour  on  tlie  drone. 

Ho  sliall  lo.:.  his  strength,  who  never 

Uses  it  for  fan-  endeavour : 
Brief  his  hour  I 


44: 


Gl'lDO  AND  LITA. 


F  those  gr(    '  attributes  we  call  divine, 

The  changeless  Strength, — the  Space,  none  dare 

define, 
How  few  the  types,  O  mortal  globe,  are  thine ! 


If 


Thou  hast  but  two  pre-eminent,  that  bear 
To  our  dim  vision  of  these  things  a  share, 
The  mountain  and  the  sea  ; — and  of  these  twain 
With  one  alone,  does  changelessness  remain. 

The  heights  seem  made  for  ever,  and  abide, 
Though  glowing  lava  streak   heir  trembling  side, 
And  bursting  craters  shake  to  founts  of  fire, 
Where,  shaped  in  rugged  dome,  or  massy  spire, 
They  raise  their  forms  into  the  azure  air ; 
What  thing  of  grandeur  may  with  them  compare  ? 
Man  may  not  measure  by  his  thought  of  time, 
The  boundless  ages  since  their  birth  sublime  : 
All  else  decays,  v/hate'er  his  tongue  can  name. 
But  they  remain,  their  m.ajesty  the  same. 
The  fabling  Greek  would  tell  that  winged  hours 


i|  te 


A  TALE  OF  THE  RIVIERA. 


45 


Kept  guard  for  ever  "w^liere  Olympus  towers 

Above  the  rock-built  chains,  and  ocean's  foam, 

And  deemed  his  gods  had  claimed  it  for  their  home. 

The  Hebrew  multitiides  saw  clouds  enshroud 

The  God  of  Truth,  with  darkness,  as  He  bowed 

Himself  o'er  Sinai,  and  the  hill  became 

His  hall  of  audience,  filled  with  sound  and  flame. 

Sacred  they  seem,  most  sacred  when  their  might 

Is  robed  in  raiment  of  untainted  white ; 

Wlien  the  keen  airs  that  from  their  summits  blow 

Descend  from  freshened  fields  of  virj^in  snow. 


Then  to  the  wearied  wanderer's  frame  they  give 

A  sense  exultant  of  the  joy  to  live  ; 

A  strength  undreamed  of,  yea,  not  e'en  by  those 

Whose  boasted  magic  would  relieve  our  woes, 

And,  by  the  essence  of  life-giving  power. 

Hold  us,  for  ever,  to  Youth's  fleeting  hour. 

With  them  lives  Beauty  undefdod  and  pure, 

As  in  the  life  that  shall  for  aye  endure  ; 

As  radiant  seems  their  promise,  as  unknoAMi 

The  tracts  between  us,  and  each  dazzling  throne. 

There  must  the  pilgrim  in  his  passage  meet 

Gaunt  Peril  waiting  to  arrest  his  feet. 

Above  the  vapours  o'er  the  valleys  furled, 

His  mounting  step  reveals  another  world. 

No  lofty  cypresses  like  sentries  stand 


I: 


i;'^ 


46 


GUTDO  AND  LIT  A: 


O'e  c  fruitful  woods,  tlie  proof  of  generous  land ; 
The  barren  pines,  in  sombre  masses,  climb 
The  slopes  that  echo  to  the  torrent's  chime. 
From  soaring  peaks  that  to  the  stars  convey 
The  secrets  gathered  from  their  wide  survey, — 
That  .seem  the  haunts  of  silent  calm,  until 
The  thunder  commune  with  the  answering  hill, — 
His  gaze,  descending  to  blue  rifts,  beholds 
The  glacier  crawling  in  its  glistening  folds. 

An  icy  menace !  as  though  cruel  eyes 

Shone,  keen  and  watchful,  where  iu  crouching  lies 

Beneath  the  fi'ozen  cliifs'  advancing  feet. 

From  caverns  where  the  prisoned  waters  meet, 

The  bursting  floods  in  gladness  to  be  free, 

Sing  from  their  hollows,  as  they  downward  flee ; 

Yet  bear  from  cold  captivity  the  stain 

Those  glittering  vaults  but  seek  to  hide  in  vain. 

On  every  side,  at  hand,  or  far  away, 
The  naked  barriers  of  the  Alps  display 
Their  varied  outlines,  while,  half-veiled  in  haze, 
A  silver  streak  the  distant  sea  betrays. 


A  fir-clad  mound  amid  the  savage  wild, 
Bears  on  its  brow  a  village,  walled,  and  isled 
In  lone  seclusion  round  its  ancient  tower. 


A  TALE  OF  THE  RIVIERA 


47 


Here  had  tlio  elements  begun  to  lour, 

That  on  the  hapless  coast  would  quickly  shower 

The  horrors  of  a  war  of  faith  and  hate. 

It  was  a  post  of  Saracens,  whose  fate 

Made  them  the  masters  for  long  years  of  lands 

Remote,  and  scattered  o'er  a  hondred  strands. 


Within  a  journey  compassed  in  a  day 

From  Orles,  a  portion  of  their  forces  lay. 

Towns  had  they  by  the  sea,  with  ships  and  wealth ; 

Some  won  by  force,  and  some  by  treacherous  stealth. 

Rude  captains  on  their  frontier  held  their  own. 

Their  lawless  deeds  scarce  to  each  other  known  j 

But  those  of  Sirad  had  been  noted  well. 

As  oft  performed  with  all  the  art  of  Hell, 

To  spread  the  rule  of  Islam  far  and  wide. 

A  grisly  bigot  he,  who  had  denied 

Himself  no  vices  that  his  creed  allowed, 

At  morn  and  eve  liis  knee  to  Mecca  bowed. 

With  prayer  to  Allah,  that  his  servant's  sword 

Might  purge  the  land  for  Mahomet  and  the  Lord. 

In  Spain,  he  saw  his  haughty  race  deride 

The  pompous  chivalry  of  Christian  pride, 

And  burned  to  see  the  Crescent  soar  above 

The  darkened  Image  on  the  Cross  of  love. 

Where'er  he  moved  he  kindled  battle's  fires. 

And  in  its  flames,  he  fashioned  his  desu-es. 


mm 


48 


OUTDO  AND  LITA: 


C5J 


'Twas  lie,  on  plunder  and  on  slaughter  bent, 
Who  led  the  raid,  that  into  Orles  had  sent 
The  clamorous  fugitives,  whoi:5e  piteous  throng. 
Demanded  vengeance,  fearful  as  their  wrong. 
Wild  Eumour's  whisper  scarcely  had  averred 
The  aged  lord  had  pledged  to  them  his  word, 
To  give  them  clothing  in  such  nakedness, 
And  by  reprisal  cover  their  distress, 
Before  the  infidel  had  vowed  to  dare 
And  beard  their  champion,  in  his  chosen  laii\ 


Through  every  settlement  his  couriers  sped, 

And  quickly  to  his  eyvy  backward  led 

A  motley  host  of  men,  to  war  inured, 

'Who  deemed  that  death  but  Paradise  assured  ; 

The  ocean  pirates  joined  their  strength,  and  planned 

Enfolding  Ik  »rror  for  the  sleeping  land. 


Before    he  entrance  of  his  narrow  gate. 

Behold  El  Sirad  for  his  followers  wait. 

Down  from  his  shoulders  falls  a  robe  of  green ; 

In  yellow  swathed,  his  limbs  below  are  seen. 

A  tunic,  barred  across  the  chest,  is  bound 

By  a  broad  belt,  in  glistening  circle  W(mnd 

O'er  a  long  dirk  and  shorter  poniard  blade, 

And  slung  a  sword,  shai-p-curved,  with  hilt  inlaid. 

From  'neath  his  turban  of  the  Prophet's  hue, 


A  TALE  OF  THE  RIVIERA. 

His  black  eje  briglitciis,  as  witliin  its  view, 
Rise  distant  forms,  the  foremost  of  the  crew, 
Tlie  hastening  bands,  tliat  herald  as  they  speed 
A  SAvarm  of  villains,  urged  by  bloodshed's  greed. 

Theii*  column's  van  now  fills  the  valley  deep, 
Now,  struggling,  breasts  the  last  and  nearest  steep ; 
And  as  the  rest  in  quick  succession  come. 
Awaking  with  their  sliou1;s  the  desert  dumb. 
In  broadening  front,  around,  and  at  his  side. 
Their  greeting  sounds  as  wolves'  to  Avolf  alKed ; 
They  fill  the  S2)ace  before  him  ;  armour  shines 
Between  dark  pillars  of  the  mourning  pines ; 
And  hills,  all  silent  in  their  shroud  of  snow, 
Seem  as  though  sorrowing  o'er  the  scene  below. 

How  varied  this,  in  changing  hues  and  shapes 
The  gaudy  raiment  that  each  warrior  drapes, 
The  Hashing  of  the  scimitars  and  s^^ears. 
The  swarthy  features  and  barbaric  cheers. 
Bring  to  this  spot,  that  Summer  loves  the  least, 
^  The  warmth,  the  sjDarkle,  of  the  glowmg  East. 
Thronged  on  the  ground  before  him,  at  his  liand'o 
Uplifted  signal,  every  soldior  stands  ; 
The  swaying  crowds  are  hushed  from  front  to  rear, 
Ajid  forward  bend,  their  chieftain's  words  to  hear. 


4Q 


Hi 


mm 


mmt 


60 


OUIDO  AND  LIT  A. 


"  Bretliren,  true  comrades,  wlio  tins  day  liave  shown 

The  prompt  obedience  Allah  loves  to  own, 

By  list'ning  to  his  servant's  warning  w^ord ; 

Hark  to  my  tidings,  from  sure  sources  heard : 

The  knight  of  Orles,  too  l(3ng  in  safety  left, 

Of  his  known  prudence  suddeidy  bereft, 

Dares,  as  though  arbiter  of  our  disputes. 

To  turn  our  victories,  and  to  spoil  their  fruits. 

His  power  was  left  him,  and  he  has  'the  Avill 

Our  cup  with  dregs  of  bitterness  to  fill, 

And  mar  the  march  of  conquests  that  have  sped 

Untamed  by  numbers,  and  unknown  of  dread. 

'Tis  a  just  punishment,  by  Heaven  given, 

For  in  past  years  ye  should  with  him  lia^'e  striven, 

Then  had  his  power  ne'er  gathered,  till  in  peace 

It  swelled  to  menace  wdth  its  dull  increase. 


r 


His  new  presumption  ye  must  now  chastise, 

But  do  not  yet  his  fore-doomed  might  despise. 

Though  of  my  summons  he  is  unaware. 

And  we,  by  rash  attack,  might  downward  bear 

The  first  resistance,  we  might  thus  but  lieaj:) 

The  well-trained  masses  o'er  our  heads,  and  ke(>p 

Their  host  united,  and  prepared  to  fall 

With  tenfold  weight,  should  fair  occasion  call. 

Sudden  our  blow  should  be,^ — but  'tis  our  pride 

That  counselling  Wisdom  walks  at  Valour's  side  : 


A  TALE  OF  THE  lilVIEBA. 

Our  unity  shall  noAv  Lis  strengtli  divide. 
To  aid  in  thin,  we  look  to  you,  ye  brave, 
Whose  steed  of  battle  is  tlie  A^•llite-nlaned  wave  : 
Ye  from  these  odds  shall  Allah's  standard  save. 
Yours  be  the  part,  in  opening  our  campaign, 
To  lure  our  foe  upon  the  treacherous  main.  ' 
This  is  my  scheme  :— together  we  invade 
In  rapid  onslaught— nought  must  be  delayed— 
The  lands  around  the  castle  ;  but  your  oars 
Must  flash  in  hundreds  off  the  neighbouring  shores 
All  prisoners  captured,  and  all  goods  we  seize. 
We  here  may  lead,  and  guard  them  at  our  ease ; 
But,  to  ai3pearance,  they  must  be  conveyed 
Across  the  seas  by  you  :  let  sail  be  made ; 
A  captive  freed,  to  whom  this  tale  displayed. 
That,  carried  to  far  colonies  as  slaves, 
The  whids  shall  mock  their  madness  as  it  raves. 
Then  Orles  shall  man  his  fleet,  and  sailing,  leave 
But  slender  garrison  ;  Avliile  you  will  cleave 
With  your  sharp  prows  the  waters  till  the  eve; 
Then  turning  under  shelter  of  the  night, 
AVheel  back,  and  join  us  for  decisive  fight, 
While  they  at  sea,  shall  make  pursuit  a  flight." 

He  paused  :  a  deep,  excited  murmur  ran. 
With  looks  of  savage  glee,  from  man  to  man ; 
And  then  resuming  :  "Do  you  join,"  he  asked, 
"  In  these  my  projects  ?     Is  your  zeal  o'ertasked  ?  " 


51 


M 


52  OUIDO  AND  LITA: 

"Nay!  nay!"  a  tliousand  tliroats,  as  one,  replied. 
"Then  swear  -with  nie,"  El  Sirad  loudly  cried : 
"Swear  by  the  Prophet's  head,  by  Koran's  writ, 
By  this  our  bond,  with  holy  fervour  knit ; 
Swear  as  though  prostrate  in  your  mosques,  and  let 
These  mountains  serve  as  dome  and  minaret, 
To  rest  not,  pause  not,  till  the  land  be  freed 
From  Christian  dogs,  from  their  accursed  breed." 

"We  swear ! "     The  words  like  thunder,  rose,  and  rung. 
Each  cliff  attesting,  with  mysterious  tongue 
That  oath,  in  wrath,  to  listening  heaven  flung. 

As  flowers  are  gay  beneath  a  threatening  sky, 

So  seemed  it  joy  could  never  tire  or  die 

Around  the  home,  where,  e'en  if  grief  had  paid 

A  fleeting  visit,  it  had  ne'er  delayed ; 

But  must  have  fled  at  one  light  word  alone 

From  her  whoso  doubting  heart  to  none  was  shown. 


I! 


Like  fairy  vessel,  born  of  childhood's  dream, 
Lita,  to  those  she  loved,  would  often  seem, 
A  bark,  descended  from  the  heaven  above 
With  shining  load  of  hope  divine  and  love. 
That  shed  such  gladness,  that  the  night  w^ould  ope, 
As  though  unable  with  its  light  to  cope  : 
And  only  when  it  passed,  had  power  to  make 
A  distant  darkness  close  behind  its  wake. 


iTO 


.1  TALE  OF  THE  lilVJERA. 

Still,  tliougli  a  sorrow  sought  licr  gentle  breast, 
No  j)imiig  mood  her  father  s  hearth  distressed. 
TJnsellish  ever,  as  in  other  days, 
She  made  mirth  minister  in  artless  ways 
To  lighten  burdens,  sprung  from  toil  and  age. 
Oft,  when  the  time  of  Advent  would  engage 
The  countryside,  in  fasting  and  in  prayer, 
To  deck  the  altars  with  some  flowerets  fair 
"Was  for  the  maidens  all,  a  cherished  care  ; 
And  she  would  lead  them  to  some  pleasant  glade 
Where  heath  and  cistus  glowed  in  tangled  shade ; 
And  all  day  long,  with  laughter,  and  with  song. 
They  wove  frail  blossoms  into  garlands  strong. 


53 


A  pleasure  'twas,  a  joy  no  man  might  ask, 

To  watch  them  busied  at  their  lovely  task. 

Their  youthful  forms  would  bend  with  pliant  ease 

To  search  among  the  time-unyielding  trees, 

Where  clustering  leaves  the  conquered  soil  had  won, 

For  violets,  sheltered  from  the  scorching  sun. 


If  flower  could  prey  on  flower,  'twould  here  be  said 

One  host  a  kindred  army  captive  led  ; 

But  'tis  not  flatter}',  nor  true  praise,  that  tries 

To  give  a  name  that  humbler  worth  implies 

To  what  is  best,  and  highest  in  our  eyes. 

What  plant,  though  fair  and  wondrous  to  our  view, 


54: 


OUWO  AND  LIT  A: 


As  if  it  drunk  tlio  very  rainbow's  liuo, 

And  gave  the  odours  of  celestial  dew ; 

Can  sliow  tlie  tender  glories,  such  as  brood 

O'er  those  whom  God  leads  on  to  womanhood  ? 

What  senseless  life  can  vie  with  char.'>is  tluit  spring 

From  minds,  whom  purity  and  gladness  wing 

To  soar  too  high,  for  sorrow's  shade  to  cling ; 

Or  imitate  the  motions  that  afford 

Frewh  beauteous  pictures  which,  in  memory  stored, 

Live,  though  they  vanish  from  our  vision's  field, 

Heplaced  by  others  for  a  while  revealed  ? 

Some  of  this  young  and  bright  invading  band 
Had  step  as  stately,  as  when  first  from  land 
A  lofty  ship  glides  slowly  from  the  port. 
The  faint  wind  dallying  with  her  sails  in  sport. 
And  others  seemed  so  wrapped  in  happy  haste, 
'Twould  pain  their  feet  an  instant's  rest  to  taste ; 
But  flitting  ever  on,  from  place  to  place 
They  strove,  as  if  for  life,  to  win  the  race, 
Who  could  the  fastest  the  sweet  blossoms  jjull, 
Whose  kerchief  heaviest,  with  its  burden  full. 


Some  pretty  traitors  v/ould  their  harvest  waste 
In  mimic  warfare,  as  they  swiftly  chased, 
Or  fled  in  turn,  before  their  friend's  assault ; 
Or,  when  a  moment,  for  a  foe  at  fault, 


A  TALE  OF  THE  BlVJEIiA. 


55 


Thoy  turned  on  tlioso  who  gutlieriiig,  busied,  Iviiult, 
With  blows  of  soft  und  sudden  trojison,  dealt 
In  odorous  showers,  that  spangled  all  the  glade, 
Despite  of  peace  proclaimed,  and  treaties  made. 
A  score  of  shapely  arms  at  work  were  seen, 
Testing  with  I'apid  touch,  each  tiny  screen, 
If  aught  lay  hidden  'neath  its  covering  green : 
And  faces,  flushed  with  merriment,  would  turn 
The  nearest  rival's  last  success  to  learn  ; 
When,  as  the  load  was  all  complete,  the  sound 
Of  laughing  triumph,  told  the  feat ;  and  found 
The  maiden  rise,  wdtli  pjinting  breast,  to  bound 
To  where  some,  seated  in  a  circle,  twined 
The  scented  chaplets,  for  their  saint  enshrined. 


!1 


And  while  the  wreaths  to  greater  volume  grew, 
And  the  quick  hands  the  thread  around  them  drew, 
The  voices  of  the  weavers  rose  and  fell, 
As  each  some  rhyme  would  sing,  or  story  tell. 
The  birds  themselves  would  from  their  hit  refrain 
To  list  to  tones  of  more  harmonious  strain, 
And  to  the  happy  groups  draw  nearer  still. 
From  woodland  thicket,  and  from  sunlit  hill : 


The  violet  peeped  above  the  snows 
First  in  Provence,  when  Christ  arose  ; 
Each  year  it  comes  that  w'c  may  see 
A  type  of  His  nativity. 


66 


OUIDO  AND  LIT  A: 

'  From  near  the  season  of  His  birth 
Until  His  death  it  gems  the  earth  ; 
And  to  the  lowly  blossom  clings, 
The  purj^le,  that  is  worn  by  Kings ! 


til 


w 


Thus  sang  the  leader  lastly,  as  the  end 

Of  their  light  labour  came,  and  she  would  wend 

Homeward,  environed  by  her  Avhole  array. 

But  one  still  lingered,  who  loved  far  away 

Alone  to  muse,  or,  plucking  flowers,  to  stray ; 

Why  shriciking  runs  she  to  rejoin  the  rest, 

As  if  a  vengeful  fate  too  hotly  pressed  ? 

All  wait,  as  breathless,  and  with  starting  eyes 

The  flying  girl  comes  near  with  fearful  cries, 

"What  is  it  then  :  what  means  this  strange  suri)rise?" 

She  gasps,  "0  fly!  escape!"  and  terrifies 

Her  wondering  comrades,  who  but  stand  and  stare ; 

Then,  gaining  sipeech,  "  The  Saracens  are  there  ! " 

They  start,  and  turn,  but  instantly  aware 
Of  many  men's  approach,  they  turn  to  find 
Yet  more  advancing  quickly  from  behind. 
Then  clasped  together,  trembling  in  despair, 
Silent,  so  potrifiod  they  could  not  daro 
Even  to  cry,  much  less  than  to  exert 
An  efibrt  vain  their  misery  to  avert ; 
They  waited  dumb,  as  though  to  terror  tame ; 


A  TALE  OF  THE  RIVIERA. 


Wlien  all  around,  from  every  side,  there  came, 
As  from  the  ground,  the  foes  whose  awful  name 
Formed  the  first  dread  their  lisping  childhood  know, 


57 


And  as  their  phantomed  horror  rose  in  view, 

Some  sank  to  earth,  and  some  despairing,  eyed 

The  coming  bandits  through  the  forest  glide  ; 

As  nearer  yet  they  came,  and  yet  more  near, 

Noiseless  at  first,  and  then  with  shout  and  jeer. 

And  as  the  girls  shrank  back  in  deadly  fear. 

Hough  hands  took  hold  and  seized  them  fast,  and  bound 

Their  yielding  limbs  ;  and  o'er  their  ankles  wound 

Long  cords,  that  tied  them,  so  that  tAVO  abp^asi; 

Might  walk  together.     Then  with  many  a  jest, 

They  closed  around,  and  bade  them  march  along. 

The  weak  were  dragged,  and  led  the  brave  and  strong 

Down  to  thv3  coast ;  save  three  who,  with  a  man 

Captured  at  mo^  ^ ,  wore  hurried  to  the  van. 

And  freed,  and  watched,  as  on  their  way  tlioy  sped, 

To  spread  in  Orlos  the  story  false  and  dread. 

Feigned  by  the  captors  ; — that  the  prisoners  ta'en 

Might  o'er  the  seas  be  sought,  though  search  were  vain. 


Along  the  shore  the  fierce  confederates  ploughed 
The  angry  shallows,  with  their  galleys'  croAvd, 
They  passed,  repassed,  with  ostentation  loud, 
As  though  their  boats  were  bringing  all  away. 


58 


OUIDO  AND  LIT  A: 


Anil  waiting  till  the  secret  close  of  day, 
Till  the  dim  shades  of  early  evening  crept 
T^rom  the  grey  sea,  and  e'en  the  mountains  slept, 
And  all  was  hushed  in  silence  for  a  time. 
As  if  fair  i^^ature  helped  her  children's  crime ; 
The  ships  departed.     Then  the  bands  on  shore 
Turned,  and  with  haste  the  wretched  women  bore 
A  long  march  inland,  through  a  forest  hoar. 
Heedless  of  tears,  from  eyes  with  weeping  sore. 


• 


Then  halting  in  the  wood  beside  a  brook, 

The  thongs  and  fetters  from  their  limbs  they  took. 

There  Sirad  marked  again  with  fierce  delight 

The  beauty  Lita  could  not  hide  from  sight, 

And  placed  her  on  his  mule,  and  at  the  head 

Of  the  armed  train  himself  his  captive  led ; 

While  she  sat  motionless  without  a  groan. 

As  though  her  form  were  eiinnged  to  senseless  stone. 

Her  face  was  bloodless,  and  her  eyes  now  wore 

A  strange,  fixed  look,  that  none  had  seen  before  ; 

She  answered  not  a  word,  as  he  would  seek 

To  hear  the  accents  of  her  terror  speak  ; 

A  tribute  slight  indeed  to  prove  his  power, 

And  yet  desired,  as  though  neglect  to  cower, 

Concealment  of  her  trembling  at  his  ways, 

Cou^ ""  injure  him.     And  then  with  sickening  gaze 

He  tried  her  vanished  hopes  again  to  raise 


A  TALE  OF  THE  BIVIEIiA. 


59 


By  telling  lior  wliat  treatment  good  lie  gave 
To  virtuous  damsels,  for  he  well  could  brave 
Danger,  unasked,  their  pleasant  lives  to  save. 

But  Lita  could  not  even  loathing  feel, 

80  bruised  and  j)icrced  was  she  hj  misery's  steel, 

That  sense  seemed  lost  of  what  was  woe  or  weal ; 

She  felt  indeed  her  consciousness  benumbed, 

As  if  sensation  at  the  shock  succumbed ; 

Yet  knew  a  latent  force  still  lived  to  fence, 

And  God  would  aid  at  least  her  innocence. 


She  could  not  count  the  time,  but  it  was  day 

Before  she  heard  the  miscreants  round  her  say, 

A  mountain  village  that  before  them  lay 

Was  the  last  goal,  to  which  their  steps  were  bent. 

Once  more,  by  Sirad's  order  forward  sent. 

An  arch  was  passed,  and  next  slie  was  aware 

That  the  mule  halted  at  a  broken  stair. 

Told  to  alight,  she  found  she  was  alone 

Among  her  foes.     Wliere  were  her  comrades  ?— thrown 

Already  in  some  dungeon, — who  could  tell  ? 

The  loss,  when  learned,  in  part  could  break  the  spell 

That  held  her  passionless  ;  she  cried  aloud : 

"Where  will  30  take  mo  ?"     But  they  only  vowed 

No  harm  should  touch  her ;  and,  to  all  her  prayers 

That  she  might  suffer  with  her  friends  ; — "Who  dares 


|p-| 


60 


GUinO  AND  LITAi 


To  question  Sirad's  will  ?  "  tlicy  laugliing  said  ; 
And  brought  lior  up  the  stairway  that  soon  passed 
Within  a  passage  of  thick  walls,  and  last 
Into  a  chamber  where  Avere  carpets  spread. 

And  left  alone,  she  sank  almost  as  dead 
Upon  the  floor,  and  sobbed  till  slumber  deej) 
Closed  the  dull  eyes  that  ached  but  could  not  weep. 
And  hid  from  thought  the  future  and  the  past 
Behind  the  veil  by  sweet  ol)livion  cast. 
Exliaustion  proved  itself  a  potent  friend. 
And  for  a  space  her  woes  were  at  an  end. 

Who  knows  what  gift  that  Nature  gives  at  birth, 

Weakness  or  strength  the  greatest  Ijoon  on  earth  ? 

Our  3'Outh  may  triumph  in  abounding  might, 

Its  loss  be  hateful  in  our  longing  sight ; 

But  when  misfortune  comes,  and  in  her  train, 

Brings  mental  anguish  or  exhausting  pain. 

The  vigorous  frame,  whose  spirit  cannot  yield. 

Prolongs  the  torture  of  the  doubtful  field ; 

Wliile  feeble  powers,  that  long  from  striving  ceased, 

Ensure  the  peace,  they  seemed  to  promise  least. 

Thus  cc  I  Id  this  tender  maid  a  wdiile  forget 

The  place  that  held  her,  dangers  th^t  beset ; 

And  there  could  reach  her,  through  a  fence  of  stone, 

An  influence  that  should  share  aer  prison  lone. 


I  III 


A  TAIE  OF  Tim  mviERA. 

Passing  tho  ,vary  g,ua„l,  „„,„,„_  „„k„„„,j_ 
And  sfal!i„g  «-itli  s«-eet  rest  her  piteous  moan. 

She  slept,  or  ,vas  it  but  a  .Ircaclful  swoon 
Ihat  made  her  lie  so  still  at  first  ?-but  soon 
It  It  were  such,  it  passed  into  a  sbop 
With  breathings  low,  and  regular,  and  deep  ; 
.    And  o  er  the  features  drawn  by  anxious  pain 
A  blessed  contentment  now  began  to  rei^n 
The  parted  lips,  and  plaei.l  face,  expressed 
No  s.gn  that  Trouble  stayed  within  the  breast, 
-Ihe  outer  clamour  of  the  hurryin-  feet 
That  sounded  loudly  e'en  in  this  retreat 
Ne  er  entered  the  carved  chamber  of  he;  ear, 
Whose  tender  curve  lay,  deHcate  and  clear 
Aganist  the  masses  of  the  fallen  hair  • 
Lilce  some  rare  shell  that  on  the  ocea'n's  bed 
Lies,  stdl  and  lovely,  'mid  his  voices  dread. 
Lets  l„s  dread  currents  sweep  where'er  they  list. 
Itself  in  silken  tangle  hid  and  kissed. 

Time  .slowly  passed ;  another  evening  came. 
And  stdl  she  lay,  o'ereome  by  him  they  name 
Restorer.     But,  alas !  wh.at  had  he  to  restore 
lo  one  forsaken  now  for  evermore  • 
And  ,vl,o  laiewnone  of  whom  .she  imght  implore 
To  hve  one  hour  of  the  loved  life  of  yore  ? 


61 


■«p 


ttg 


62 


GUIDO  AND  LIT  A. 


Joy  could  not  follow  from  liis  realm  of  dreams, 
From  lands  of  unreality,  from  gleams 
Of  fancied  pleasure  to  tlie  presence  stern 
Of  fiends  whose  purpose  slie  might  just  discern. 
Her  weakness  in  its  mercy  freed  a  while 
The  mind  from  knowledge  of  their  wishes  vilo, 
And  let  her  roam  again  at  will,  and  smile. 
As  though  tin?  moment  opened  to  her  eyes 
The  home  hor  love  had  made  a  paradise. 

Her  thoughts'  fair  images  still  sealed  her  face, 
"When  a  veiled  figure  entered,  and  the  place 
Grew  light  in  evening's  dusk,  beneath  the  ray 
Of  a  small  lamp  that  showed  the  vestments  grey 
Wherewith  the  bearer,  from  her  head  to  feet, 
Was  closely  draped. 


With  movements  soft  and  fleet 
She  came,  and  paused,  and  held  the  lamp  on  high. 
As,  though  in  searcl\  of  one  unseen,  yet  nigh  ; 
Then  bent  and  lowered  her  arm,  when  on  the  floor 
She  saw  an  outstretched  form,  Avhose  stillness  bore 
A  likeness  to  the  lasting  rest  of  death. 
But  watching  closely,  she  could  mark  the  breath 
That  made  the  bosom  gently  rise  and  fall. 
Could  see  the  love-smile  mantling  over  all, 
And  stooped  to  touch  her.     Starting  with  a  cry, 


A  TALE  OF  THE  RIVIERA 

The  captive  half  arose,  as  if  to  fly ; 
Then,  seeing  but  a  woman  by  her  -.dtle, 
The  anxious  voice  upon  her  lips  had  died 
Before  the  visitor  had  knelt  and  made 
A  warning  sign,  as  if  of  speech  afraid. 


63 


"Hush !"  whispered  she,  "let  no  one  hear  us  speak ; 

Command  thy  terror, — nay,  'twere  best  to  seek 

To  keep  the  smile  Sleep  brought  upon  thy  cheek : 

For  thine  own  sake,  for  this  one  night,  pretend 

That  thine  alarm  to  thy  content  can  bend. 

Thou  look'st  upon  me  as  a  creature  sent 

To  question,  spy,  persuade,  or  to  torment : 

But  see  behind  this  veil ;  though  not  as  thou. 

Time  has  not  drawn  the  marking  on  my  brow ; — 

A  heavier  hand  than  his,  a  stronger  power. 

Has  poisoned  life,  and  cursed  each  wretched  hour. 

Thus  may  I  claim  some  fellowship  with  thee, 

For  youth  and  grief  belong  no  less  to  me. 

I  come  as  friend,  to  counsel  and  to  free, 

I  come  as  foe  to  him  thou  know'st  as  foe, — 

I  come  to  work  him  evil,  woe  for  woe. 

Hath  he  not  given  me  enough  to  make 

His  gi'ief  my  pleasure  ?     Never,  for  thy  sake, 

"Would  I  perchance  deceive  him.     For  mine  own 

I'll  show  that  Fate  obeys  not  him  alone. 

Too  long,  O  God,  too  long,  have  I  obeyed 


h 


64 


OUWO  AND  LIT  A. 


A  forco,  wlioso  dictates  could  not  bo  gainsaid, 
Thougli  my  coniplianco  on  my  conscience  weighed. 
And  tliou  too,  girl,  liadst  ne'er  tlie  task  essayed 
To  tliwart  the  humours  of  the  tyrant's  will. 

But  though  weak  flesh  may  yield,  the  spirit  still 

Recoils  in  hate  ;  and  oft  I  know  again 

The  bitter  pining  that  is  now  thy  pain  ; 

For  I,  like  thee,  b}^  Moslem  pirates  ta'en 

Was  once  a  Christian ;  and  the  chief  shall  find 

Delight  may  wither  with  his  altering  mind. 

He  comes  to  thee  this  eve, — nay,  courage,  child. 

Thou  shalt  escape  him !     He  shall  be  beguiled 

To  trust  thee.     Act  the  hypocrite  a  while  : 

See  if  thou  canst.     Thou  must  not  lose  thy  smile, 

But  keep  it,  when  thou  seest  him.     I'll  be  there, 

Listiui,  for  'tis  this  thou  must  prepare  : 

AVlien  he  shall  order  me  to  go,  as  ho 

Will  surely  do,  not  wishing  me  Avith  thee, 

Then  giv(>  him  this,  as  if  thou  didst  relent, 

When  I  say  *  Take  it, — from  his  side  I'm  sent.' 

It  is  a  cup  of  drink  that  I  prepare, 

Kefreshing  him  when  past  day's  toil  and  care. 

And  h(^  will  takci  it  from  thee  unjiware 

That  in  its  freshest  foam,  a  drug  lies  hid 

That,  ere  a  moment  passes  o'er,  will  bid 

His  eyelids  fall  in  slumber,  and  his  arm 

Shall  be  more  powerless  than  thine  own  for  harm." 


A  TALE  OF  THE  EIVIERA. 

And  Rs  slio  spoke,  came  slaves,  wlio  for  their  lord, 
Set  lights  and  wine  and  fruit  upon  the  board  ; 
And  f^oon  El  Sirad  strode  into  the  room. 
Bedecked  with  gems,  and  tissues  of  the  loom  ; 
And  greeted  both  the  women,  as  they  stood, 
But  made  the  elder  a  quick  sign  anil  rude. 
When  she,  in  Lita's  hand,  Avitli  signs  of  woe, 
Placed  a  full  goblet,  as  she  turned  to  go. 


65 


'; 


■t 


w 


•Then  Lita,  scarcely  knowing  what  she  did, 

Stretched  fin'th  the  cup  to  him,  as  she  was  bid ; 

That  he,  in  his  surprise,  took  not  at  first. 

Saying,  "Beauteous  damsel,  pray  l)elieve  my  thirst 

Was  but  to  see  thee  reconciled."     She  came 

Yet  nearer,  choking  back  her  shame 

(If  shame  she  felt ; — her  manner  rather  told 

Despair  had  nerved  her  in  her  btniring  bold) ; 

And  half  instinctively  she  played  the  part 

On  which  was  set  the  whole  hope  of  her  heart. 

She  could  not  raise  her  eyes  ;  she  could  not  smile  : 

He  looked  at  her  in  silence  for  a  while, 

Tlu^n  drank  and  said,  "I  thank  thee,  and  I  drink 

To  happier  times,  and  eyes  that  shall  not  sink. 

But  greet  me  with  their  light,  when  next  I  come. 

Fair  sorceress,  relent,  and  be  not  dumb. 

Speak  for  I'm  weary  ! "     And  the  maid  who  thought 

With  horror  that  the  drug  no  change  had  wrought, 


^•^ 


6() 


QUIDO  AND  LITA: 


And  heard,  all  agoiiizocl  -svltli  hidden  fear, 
The  loathsome  words  ho  spoke  as  if  to  cheer, 
Now  saw  him  on  the  cushioned  floor  reclined. 
The  thick  lips  powerless  to  portray  the  mind. 
The  linf^o  form  lifeless  'neath  the  spell  of  sleep, 
The  man  she  so  detested,  but  a  h(\^ip 
Of  loosened  limbs,  his  raiment  glittering  dread 
Beneath  the  light  the  lamps  upon  it  shed. 

Again  the  woman's  voice  assailed  her  ear ; 
"Great  God,  he  drank  it !     Do  not  idle  here. 
Leave  him,  he  cannot  follow  thee.     Now  haste, 
Arouse  thy  people,  that  thy  friends  may  taste 
The  freedom  I  may  give  alone  to  thee  !" 

She  touched  her  arm  and  led  her  out,  and  she 

Stepj)ed  forth  in  silence  down  the  narrow  stair, 

Breathed,  as  amazed,  again  the  outer  air, 

Aiid  halted  only,  when,  wdthout  the  wall. 

She  heard  the  woman's  words,  "Thou  hear'st  the  fall 

Of  yonder  torrent  ?     Pleadlong  as  its  speed 

Must  be  thine  own  ;  and  it  will  safely  lead 

Down  to  the  woods  :  then  let  thy  steps  be  bound 

By  its  lulled  murmur, — thus  shall  Orles  be  found." 


And  left  alone,  she  gazed  above,  where  frowned 
The  black  rocks  darkly  o'er  the  sombre  pines ; 


A  TALE  OF  THE  JilVJERA, 


87 


And  ovor  tlicm  the  moon  on  rugged  lines 
Of  peak  and  glacier  slionc,  with  sturlight  cold. 
And  all  Avas  quiet,  save  the  stream  that  told 
Of  restless  hasto  till  homo,  at  last,  were  found. 


Then  fled  she  onward,  guided  by  its  sound. 

All  night  she  travelled  wearily,  and  yet, 

Upon  her  purpose  resolutely  set, 

With  bleeding  feet  she  trod  the  stones ; — the  morn 

Still  saw  the  pain  with  steadfast  bravery  borne. 

But  when  before  her  eyes  the  towers  arose 

That,  in  an  hour,  had  yielded  her  repose  ; 

And  been  the  dreadful  journey's  happy  close, 

Her  step  swayed,  faltering,  and  her  sight  grew  dim. 

Earth,  trees,  and  toAvn  appeared  to  rise,  and  swim 

On  misty  air,  that  weighed  upon  the  breast. 

Upon  her  laboring  heart  a  hand  was  pressed, 

As  reeling  on  the  bank  beside  the  stream 

She  fell,  and  hope  seemed  but  a  girlish  dream ! 


08 


QUWO  AND  LIT  A: 


EE,  ill  the  heaven  there  glances, 
Piercing  its  northern  night, 
Light,  as  of  himinous  hmces, 
Ehishing,  and  hurled  in  fight. 


With  weird  and  wavering  gleaming 
Bright  ranks  advance  ever  higher. 

As  if  through  a  battle's  niist  streaming, 
And  storming  the  zenith  with  fire. 


\ku 


Arrajed  like  a  rainbow,  but  Ideating 
The  dark,  with  thousands  of  spears. 

Each  thrown,  as  though  armies  were  meeting, 
All  glittering  and  red  re-appears. 

At  times  in  fair  order,  and  crossing 

The  heaven  as  with  a  span. 
Or  disarrayed,  striving,  and  tossing. 

Seem  the  hosts  to  the  eyes  of  man. 

See  how  their  lines  are  shaking. 
Surge  on,  and  fast  retire, — 


A  TALE  OF  THE  III  VI ERA. 

How  throngli  tliom  faster  break 
Eiso  otliers,— gleam,— expire. 

Are  rival  banners  vying, 

And  waved  by  armed  hands, 

Or  slieen  of  j^lanets  flying 
From  bright  celestial  brands  ? 


mg 


But  the  silence  reigns  unbroken, 
They  fight  without  a  sound ; 

If  indeed  these  lights  betoken 
That  wars  the  stars  astound ! 

For  whether  they  burn  all  gory. 
Or  blanch  the  trcniblino-  skv 

"NT       J.1  J» 

iNo  tlnuuler  vaunts  their  glory 
As  in  the  gloom  they  die. 


^S 


Do  they  come  as  warning,  tcllin 
Of  death,  or  Avar,  or  shame, 

When  their  tremulous  pulses,  swelhn 
Can  fill  the  world  with  flame. 

Do  they  tell  of  cities  burninjr. 

Mid  sack,  and  blood,  and  lust ; 
Of  lighted  arrows,  turning 
Loved  hearths  to  smoking  dust  ? 


Cf 


69 


I  \ 


J' 
r 


70 


GUJDO  AND  LITA: 


For  like  to  an  awlal  prosago 
Of  lields  of  sLiiiglitorcHl  dead, 

Just  where  tliey  luild  their  paL..dgo 
A  crimson  cloud  is  spread. 


Ill  y 


Or,  boding  no  fell  chastening, 
Are  they  bat  paths,  where  shine 

Swif-  feet,  innnortal,  liastening 
"V\  ith  messages  divine? 

Come  thus  the  angels  speeding 
With  blighting  wing,  and  rod  ? 

Ah,  none  may  know  the  reading 
Or  follow  the  signs  of  God ! 

In  silence  He,  the  Maker, 
Bids  kindle  the  fair  fire ; 

In  silence  He,  the  Taker, 
Lets  the  red  flame  expire. 

And  o'er  the  watcher's  spirit, 
"With  Fear,  Desire  is  thrown  : 

A  longing  deep  doth  stir  it 
To  know  the  yet  Unknown. 

We  seek,  with  usel(\ss  yearning, 
To  my  at  hidden  things, 


A  TALE  OF  THE  ItlVIERA. 

Wlioro  God,  to  mock  our  learning, 
His  veil  of  mjsterj  flings. 

Earth  roars  ns,  and  to  love  Lcr 
From  birth  our  nature's  bound  : 

But  slio,  like  the  fires  above  hei 
May  die  without  a  sound. 


ler. 


Her  seasons'  varying  story, 
The  fate  of  tdl  jier  race, 

May,  like  tlie  Aurora's  glory, 
Change,  in  a  moment's  si)acc ! 


71 


None  save  the  sentiy  .valk<xl  tlie  rampart  hi-h 
Where  Guido  stood  at  night  with  haggard  eye, 
lliuiking  in  desperate  mood  upon  Ixis  love  • 
When  rose  that  portent  in  the  skie;.  above/ 
Tliat,  seldom  seen  within  a  southern  clime. 
Is  held  as  token  of  some  coming  time ; 
And  many  a  legend  tells,  "It  bodeth  woe, 
The  midnight-dawning  of  that  lambent  glow." 

Tlie  eve  had  brought  him  tidings  of  tlie  raid 
That  gave  to  cruel  bonds  his  hapless  maid. 
Long  ere  the  morning  came  his  fieet  would  wvLdi 
And  hound  the  robbers  till  they  turned  to  bay  "  ' 


fif 


72 


OUIDO  AND  LTTA. 


I'lnis  vowed  lio,  raging,  and  caeli  hour  liad  scon 
All  frosli  0(|ulppod,  that  no'or  had  wanting  l)0«ni : 
His  ships  o'ci'huulcd,  tlu^  bowmen's  mantlets  swung 
Like  evil  nests,  on  naked  tree-top  hung  ; 
The  food  was  stored,  tlui  brawny  rowers  placcid, 
Tlic,  shields  made  bulwarks  for  th(^  vcjssel's  waist. 
'V\\o  soldiers  ciowded  on  tin;  d(!cks  Averc;  told 
To  nurse  their  vengeance  for  their  vigil  cold  ; 
AVliile  tluiir  yoinig  leaden*,  to  take  counsel  brief, 
Ijel't  them  a  Avliih;  to  mec^t  his  sire  and  chief, 
Who,  ov(>rj()y<-d  to  see  his  ardour  rise. 
Had  !nade  him  captaiji  of  this  last  t^mprise. 


And  soon  he  joined  his  son,  content  to  guiih^ 
AVith  words,  since  age  Avould  lau'])  hitn  from  his  side. 
lI[)on  i\\o  walls  that  to  the  seaward  faccul, 
^riie  two,  in  earnest  convcu'st^,  slowly  })ac(Hl; 
Whilci  far  above  the  streamers  shot  and  paled, 
The  scarlet  ])inions  flapped  their  plumes,  or  Hail(>d 
Through    quivering    night,    that    round    i\\v\i\    slirunk    ai:d 
quailed. 

Tlu'  conf(^rence  o'er,  impaticmt  of  delay, 

Cluido  sprang  quickly  down  th(^  rocky  Avay, 

TIrged  his  boat';-*,  crew,  as  fast  th(>ir  blades  thry  plied, 

Sealed  with  a  shout  the  largest  g:dl(\y's  side, 

*' Weigh,  comrades,  w(>igh !  we  seek  the  ocean  wide." 


A  TALE  OF  TITE  mviEEA. 

Hor  cables  oronk,  und  now  tl.,.  w.'lt(n^s,  ^imviw([ 
Aiul  liisluul  !)>'  „ii<.l,ty  ojtrs,  to  fo;uu  ,u-(,  (,lin7-ii. mI  • 
lliY  ports  a,v  ,slmk(ni  bj  tluu'r  dk^usiuv,!  swoop, 
And  gi-(Kui  ]-osponsiv(>  to  tlio  b.irdoiuMl  (^-(>p. 

Vmi  moviiig  soon,  ;,s  H  from  slmi,]„>r  woko, 
Slio  stirs,  slu^  starts  ut  (>voiy  lubourin-  str()k(s 
Aiul  gafclioriiig  sj^hmI,  slio  darts  iiito  tlio  inain' 
A  gi-im  s(^a-m()iist(>r,  })oarinnr  stinrrs  of  pr,ii,, 
Tl.at  myriad-limbod  its  lioirid  food  will  gain. 
Hor  consorts  follow  in  lu^r  wliit(Mi(>d  wako, 
Till  oacli,  in  turn,  its  dostiiK^l  placo  can  tako. 

Tho  liglits  on  slior(>  grow  dim,  tho  shadows  floo 
l^hat  t(>ll  wlH^r(>  l;md  l,>a],s  forth  n])on  tho  soa. 
The  slow  hours  luiirk  th(^  uiuvmittiug  toil; 
And  still  th(>  sti-ickon  waves  around  nnist  l)oil 
Till  morn  ariso,  tiio  Avinds  Avithin  Ikm-  hand 
To  waft  thorn  fuvth<>r  from  that  throatonod  land. 
Moanwliil(>,  do "iioiKh^nt  oji  tho  tow<M-ing  st(!rn, 
Gui(h)  is  1(  iirning  what  it  is  to  (\arn 
Tlioso  solf-infliotcMl  pangs,  when  kocm  llt-niorso 
Gnaws  through  tho  hoart  its  agonising  course. 
O  that  a  gonorous  fatc^  had  oai-lior  shown 
The  patli  of  Honoir,  ore  th(^  hour  was  llown 
Wh(>u  o'or  it  Hope  could  happiness  have  thrown  I 
Had  he  but  st^jmnied  the  tide  of  otlun-s'  woo, 


7;j 


II 


^.'! 


I  11 


74 


GUI  DO  AND  LIT  A. 


Ho  r\iiov  liiul  tiist(Ml  of  its  saLlc  flow, 

L()V(!  still  rcmainod. — Groat  God !  could  it  be  vain  ? 

Life  still  was  Lis,  her  loverly  life  to  gain  : 

For  her,  for  Ycaigoaiuio,  wonld  ho  liv(>,  and  sato 

Neglected  Justice  through  a  nol)lo  hate. 

To-morrow's  sun  should  see  the  ])illows  l)lood 

Round  wrecks  that  bore  the  authors  of  this  dtuHl  : 

Yet  how,  alas,  destruction's  bolt  to  aim 

That  partial  ruin  should  n-ttend  its  ilanie, 

And  save  the  captive  froiii  revenge  and  shaino  ? 

Another  hour  the  maddening  doubt  luight  clear; 

Events  might  prove  it  but  a  causeless  loar. 

And  yet,  how  terrible  the  tor^ud  ilight 

Of  Time, — nccomplico  of  forgetful  Night ! 

What  meant  the  rush  of  those  vast  wings  tliat  spread 

A  ghostly  I'adianco  'neath  the  vault  o'(a-head? 

O  that  they  would  but  blaze  upon  the  seas 

Hays  that  should  mark  the  Paynim  as  he  flees, 

And  this  ])liiid  groping  Avith  fierce  ligh!  wore  smote 

To  lot  him  fast(!n  on  the  dastard's  tliroat! 

More  light!  more  light!  Would  mornhig  never  come? 

Some  evil  witchery  k(^i)t  the  broez(!S  dumb  ! 


No,  tlun'o  tlu^y  sing,  amid  ^ho  empty  shroud^" , 
The  stars  arc  quenched,  and  rise  the  rosy  clouds ! 
"Sail,  set  all  sail,  we'll  gain  upon  them  fast!'^ 


m 


A  TALE  OF  THE  HIVIETiA. 

Tlio  canvas  ciirtsios  to  tlio  crcaldjig  mast ; 
A  im'glitior  power  tlian  Inimaii  \\\]\  may  wield 
Compols  lioi-  onward  o'er  the  sapi)]iiro' field. 

Her  hundred  arms  arc  now  no  longer  seen  • 
Transfoi  .nod  and  beauteous,  like  a  sea-boru  queen, 
With  gallant  grace  she  glides  amid  ihv.  crowd. 
Where  the  hoarse  tumult  of  rough  waves  is  loud; 
And  their  ruch;  clamour  mellows  as  she  speeds, 
For  a  wild  wonder  to  tln-ir  wr;ith  succeeds. 
Lo,  tlKur  swift  ranks  are  folhnving  wIk^-c  she  h^ads, 
Th(,-ir  curving  cr(^sts  tlieii  offered  homage  i)leads, 
Till  laughijig  murmurs  their  delight  rev(>al 
And  eddjiug  dances,  round  the  lining  \^caA. 

Changed  too  by  love  is  Guido's  strick(ni  soid ; 
Through  his  tried  spirit  have  begun  to  roll 
The  glorious  lights,  the  mighty  gales,  that  spring 
Wli(«n  waking  Ccmscience  stirs  at  last  to  fling 
Pollution  from  h(>]-,  though  it  darkly  cling. 

Like  the  fair  wind  that  lills  the  arching  sail. 

Love  l)reatlies  its  strength  ui)on  his  terrors  pale  ; 

And  makes  tlu-m  serve  to  bear  him  straight  and  true, 

Till  dangers  lessen  to  his  hopeful  view ; 

And  former  hours  seem  things  of  double  scorn, 

In  sight  of  valour  of  devotion  born. 


75 


i\ 


i''i 


70 


QUWO  AND  TATA: 


Ood  speed  liis  convso !  but  nil,  will  trouble  bow 

To  liigh  r(>solve,  though  writ  ou  youthful  brow? 

"Will  suiiling  victoiy  his  advauces  greet, 

And  following  ages  his  renown  repeat? 

'Twaa  not  for  him  to  qu(!stion  or  decide 

Where  (^l)])ed  tlu^  limits  of  his  fortune's  tide. 

By  one;  thought  guided  and  by  one  possessed, 

The  thought  ihat  racked  him,  and  in  racking  blessed, 

He  scanned  the  distant  line  where  wave  ou  wave 

Sharp  cruel  teeth  to  bare  horizon  gave, 

And  turned  in  bitterness  away,  as  nought 

His  straining  yisicm  to  his  senses  brought, 

And  through  the  watches  of  the  morn,  the  light 

But  mocked  the  ^'earning  of  the  feverish  night. 


The  wind  increases  ;  the  flotilla  strown 
Far  o'er  the  seas  is  tossed  apart,  and  thrown 
From  swelling  ridges  whence  the  Avorld  is  seen, 
To  h)n(^ly  hollows  walled  w^ith  waters  green. 
Swift  ragged  clouds  eclipse  the  sea  and  sky. 
And  by  the  staggering  ship  pass  slirieking  by. 
That  reels  forsidceu,  save  by  one  sea  mew  : 
A  creature  hailed  as  comrade  by  the  crew, 
And  watched  by  Guido  till  his  fancy  gives 
Mysteri(jus  meaning  to  the  thing  that  lives 
Borne  on  the  breast  of  tempests,  as  a  child 
Is  dandled  in  caress  of  mother  mild  ; 


A  TALE  OF  TUB  lUVIEItA 

And  looking  on  it,  as  with  scarce  a  beat 

Of  .ts  long  wing.,  it  follows  Um  tlnongl,  h,..t 

Ono„nanclcoUofnig,,t,onpi„io..''f,e     ; 
With  uttoranco  low  liis  restless  tl.on.rl  f  c    i 

A..Uro,.n  tones  .olistcni,:;^e!;2^::tr^''' 


77 


I. 


While  tlu^ngh  the  roaring  surf  I  saU 
lo  track  the  coward  rover, 

One  ensign  to  mj  mast  I  nail 
To  float  till  life  be  over. 


m 
■It 


n. 


And  thou  sharp-winged  and  milk-white  bird 

Wlio  f ollowest  ever  after 
Whose  wild  notes  o'er  the  deep  are  hoard 
Above  the  hoarse  waves'  laughter; 


nr. 

Art  thou  indeed,  as  seems  to  me. 
Her  spirit,  sorrow-laden 

Sent  forth,  in  longing,  o'er  the  sea,- 
Ihe  spirit  of  mj  maiden? 

An  answering  blast  with  omen  sad  rephes, 
lie  bird  departs  with  loud  and  waili  g„,  es  • 
T)ic  day  wanes  quickly,  and  another  time 


78 


aUIDO  AND  LIT  A. 


Of  hateful  doubt  must  liiLlo  tlio  men  of  ciimc  ; 

But  danger  comes  as  giver  of  relief, 

And  makes  tlio  busy  hours  by  contrast  brief. 

Amid  the  foam  that  they  at  dawn  descry, 

They  sec  a  vessel  that  no  more  can  fly : 

From  shattered  stumps  mere  strips  of  canvas  stream, 

The  high  waves  beat  through  many  an  opened  seam, 

And  fhng  their  froth,  as  serpents  lick  their  2^i'cyj 

O'er  the  doomed  hull  ere  hiding  it  from  day ; 

Her  low-laid  length  the  corsair  craft  betrays  : 
O  God  of  justice,  to  Thy  name  be  praise ! 
With  weapons  bared,  and  Avitli  exultant  cheers. 
The  Christian  bark  upon  the  foeman  steers  ; 
Gra|)ples  her  quarter,  pours  upon  her  beam 
A  clattering  torrent,  a  fierce  leaping  stream 
Of  armed  avengers,  for  an  instant  checked. 
Then  pouring  headlong  o'er  resistance  wrecked. 


Faint  words,  from  lips  of  dying  wretches  wrung, 

Tell  how  all  hope  on  false  delusion  hung. 

How  the  swift  sails  they  thought  they  had  pursued, 

Might  now  from  Orles  indeed  be  closely  viewed, 

Ihit  that  none  lingered  on  the  storm-swept  sea. 

One  ship  alone   of  all,  by  Heaven's  decree. 

This  sinking  hull,  by  lightning  struck  and  maimed, 


A  TAIE  OF  THE  RIVIERA. 
By  friomb  forsaken  ,vhcn  their  aid  «hc  claimed, 

ll.at  round  tl,e  liarbonr  forms  a  fatal  bar 
Ga,„st  Christian  il..ets,  to  keep  tlicir  .succour  far  • 
One  band  alone  of  all  the  Prophet's  host, 
rhat  but  embarked  to  swoop  upon  the  coast,  • 

lh.i   sets  the  k.,j-stone  to  proud  Islam's  arch ; 
That  arch  of  conquest,  'neath  vhose  shelter  cast 
Oiles  captire  daughters  shall  forget  the  past. 

Enough,  enough,  the  impious  boast  La,l  Invath 
rron.  hearts  now  shielded  from  revenge  by  death  ■ 

That  gave  the  infidel  a  hissing  pyre 

Whem  flame  and  wave,  commingling,  fought  to  win 

Me  fiends  that  battle  for  lost  souls  rf  sin  ' 

But  did  not  Truth  the  ghastly  fiction  spurn. 
Must  foil  Despair  embitter  tho  return  • 
Leave  other  hearts  to  joy  in  harvests  sown 
By  those  whose  grief  no  carnage  could  atone  ? 

The  cowering  di^ad  that  bids  the  partridge  lie 
Slid  dust  or  leaf  while  yet  the  hawk  is  n.gh; 
llio  fatal  panic  that  so  closely  holds 
The  victim  menaced  by  the  serpent's  folds  • 


7U 


I 


i 


80 


QUIDO  AND  LIT  A: 


i 


i' 


Tlio  vague  yot  strong  foreboding  of  his  doom 
At  times  vouelisjifcd  tlic  traveller  to  tlie  tomb  ; 
Appeared  to  brood  upon  the  steep-built  town 
Since  reddening  skies  had  told  of  heaven's  frown, 
And  her  stout  manhood,  lured  by  guile  to  fly, 
Had  left  the  helpless  to  withstand  and  die. 


The  few  who  on  their  errands,  hasting,  went, 
Seemed  worn  by  sorrow,  and  with  toiling  spent ; 
No  prattling  children  chased  with  eager  feet 
As  wont  of  yore,  the  passer  in  the  street ; 
Her  women,  wan  and  trembling  in  distress, 
Could  find  no  hand  to  comfort  them  and  bless  ; 
For  e'en  old  soldiers,  left  behind,  would  prose 
No  more  of  early  fightings,  joys,  or  woes  ; 
But  in  grave  silence  donned  the  weighty  steel, 
And  marvelled  time  had  made  it  heavier  feel 
Than  when,  with  youth  and  confidence  elate, 
They  saw  them.selves  the  guardians  of  the  State, 
Where  now  sad  auguries  alone  held  reign 
That  e'en  the  boldest  had  not  dared  disdain. 


Her  caverned  ways  lay  hushed  where'er  they  wound, 
And  from  the  church  alone  was  heard  the  sound 
Of  voices  raised,  that  in  united  prayer 
Breathed  low  responses  to  the  listening  air ; 
While  the  robed  priests  from  rise  to  set  of  sun 


A  TALE  OF  THE  BIVIEItA. 

Prayed  God  his  supj-liante  not  in  wrath  to  shun 
i!ut  in  His  strength  inviueiblo  to  rise 
And  sl,ow  His  niorcy  to  His  servants'  eyes. 

What  varying  signs,  what  altering  moods  attest 
Iho  presence  stern  of  tliat  unwelcome  guest 
Who  secfe  at  tnnes  an  entry  to  eaclx  breast; 
Who.  lodged  within  the  fortress  he  has  ta'en 
IcarS  down  disguises  men  assume  in  vain  ■    ' 
Whose  hand,  of  ice,  can  tluill  tluongh  ner™  and  bone 
Can  prove  our  nature  by  one  touch  alone  • 
Can  stiil  the  wildest,  and  the  fiercest  tame, 
By  might  that  Fear  and  Fear  alone  can  claim  ! 

No  sentient  life,  inheriting  th(j  dower 
Of  thought  or  instinct,  can  deny  its  power 
A  gift  of  God  to  warn  the  weak  of  harm 
And  move  the  valour  of  the  stronger  arm  • 
And  yet  an  influence  giving  rise  to  care 
Too  great  for  frail  humanity  to  bear 
Deepenmg  onr  evil  till  its  gloom  is  far 
Too  dense  and  dark  for  virtue's  high-set  star ; 

But  m,d  the  night  how  bright  the  silvery  glo; 

On  all,  soul-lifted,  o'er  the  world  below  r 

No  craven  he,  who  has  to  fear  confessed 

Nor  brave  the  man  whom  it  has  ne'er  o;pressed; 

For  he  who  knows  it  not,  is  less  than  brute 
6  ' 


81 


III 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


*  W    M 


1.0 


I.I 


11.25 


^    1^    12.0 

u  


JA  11.6 


ff 


'W 


/a 


"y. 


Oj/ 


y 


s:<? 


% 


vV 


82 


QUIDO  AND  LIT  A: 


He  wretch  alone,  wlio  lets  its  terrors  root, 
He  bravest  only,  wlio,  with  courage  high, 
Feels  the  full  risk,  and  mans  himself  to  die  ! 

Lita  was  safe,  if  safety  could  be  said 

To  live  in  hearing  of  fell  danger's  tread. 

And  she,  for  once  a  prophetess  of  ill. 

Had  brought  the  warning  they  neglected  still ; 

For  jiaraly/ed  by  all  her  lips  disclosed, 

A  deadening  fear  each  energy  opposed. 

Some  peasants  journeying  in  the  early  morn 
To  pluck  their  citrons,  found  the  maid  forlorn, 
Still  senstdess  by  the  stream  ;  then  quickly  borne 
Upon  their  mule  into  the  town,  her  life 
Came  back,  to  warn  them  of  the  coming  strife. 
They  brought  her  in,  and  sent  unto  their  lord, 
Who  came  to  test  the  news  that  spread  abroad. 

Then  she,  in  this  extremity  but  made 
Cahn  by  the  peril  she  had  well  essayed. 
In  clear  and  rapid  narrative,  could  tell 
The  threats  she  heard,  and  what  to  her  befel! 
And  thus  it  chanced  that  for  his  town's  defence, 
The  aged  warrior  counsel  took,  from  whence 
Others  had  found  in  moments  of  distress 
The  strength  of  innocence,  and  gentleness. 


11 1 : 


A  TALE  OF  THE  BIVIEBA. 

And  seeing  she  was  resolute  to  bear 

In  man's  misfortune  Avoman's  heavy  share, 

He  told  how  straitly  they  wore  then  beset ; 

Nor  found  her  cheek  with  idle  tear  grow  wet, 

But  kindle  with  quick  bl(jod  as  she  inquired 

If  feeble  arms,  by  his  example  fired, 

Might  not  assist  the  fighters  on  the  wall. 

Where  levers  plied,,  give  rock-like  stones  their  fall ; 

Or  if  young  e^-es  could  not  best  watch  and  mark 

The  points  most  threatened  in  the  masking  dark  ? 

And  he,  enamoured  of  her  spirit,  showed 

How,  though  her  strength  could  never  swell  the  load 

Of  heavy  stones  that,  piled  on  wall  and  toAver, 

Would  plunge,  to  shatter  the  assailant's  jjower, 

Yet  the  black  caldrons  filled  with  boiling  oil. 

And  smoking  pitch  must  prove  her  helpful  toil ; 

If  rain  of  darts  but  came  from  clouds  of  men, 

Few  arms  could  shower  these  simpler  weapons ;  then 

Her  aid,  with  those  she  could  persuade  and  guide, 

IMight  kindle  numerous  watch-fires,  so  their  pride 

Would  seem  unto  the  foe  as  though  displayed 

By  many  bands,  in  order  firm  arrayed. 

Young  eyes  could  watch  the  movements  of  the  night ; 

Quick  hands  bring  water,  if  a  sudden  light 

Among  the  houses  spoke  of  bursting  flame. 


83 


u 


OUIDO  AND  LIT  A: 


And  by  the  evening,  she  had  roused  the  shame 

Of  weeping  wives  and  maids,  while  wall  and  keep 

Were  weiglited  well  Avith  many  a  rough  stone  heap. 

The  molten  missiles  glowed  in  vessels  deep, 

And  some  security  with  pain  was  gained. 

Thus  aided  she  the  burghers  who  remained, 

Who  half  distraught,  had  with  the  veterans  made 

Within  each  gate  a  sturdy  barricade. 

And  when  the  water  tanks  were  filled,  theu'  work  was  done 

But  as  they  lit  the  fires  at  set  of  sun, 

They  saw  rise  dimly  on  the  moaning  sea 

The  pirate  fleet,  that  found  the  harbour  free 

Of  all  defence.     The  crews  soon  inland  stole 

And  left  their  ships  at  the  abandoned  mole. 

Then  flared  the  watch-fires  on  the  rampart  height. 
And  gave  the  town  ?  coronet  of  light ; 
And  the  grim  host  whose  troops  had  poured  around, 
Ranked  in  deep  columns  on  the  teeming  ground, 
lUumined  by  the  blaze,  recoiled  as  though 
Surprised  and  startled  at  a  ready  foe  : 
And  the  beleaguered,  staring  into  night, 
Stood  back  appalled  at  their  besiegers'  might ; 
For  the  bright  glare,  from  every  spear  returned. 
On  the  mailed  ranks,  again  repeated,  burned. 


But  'mid  the  Saracens  the  cry  arose. 
Prudence  forbade  them  in  such  haste  to  close. 


A  TALE  OF  THE  RIVIERA. 


85 


"When  thus  the  garrison  was  seen  prej)arecl. 

No  false  attacks  their  ■weaknesses  had  bared, 

And  there  was  reason  stratagem  to  fear : 

Was  the  port  opened  but  to  lure  them  near  ? 

Sirad  had  died  :  was  all  then  evil-starred 

That  came  from  him  ;  had  e'en  his  plans  been  marred, 

Their  purport  reached  the  town  ?     Perhaps  there  lay 

The  vessels  they  had  thought  decoyed  aAvay, 

In  ambush,  hid  within  some  neighbouring  bay  ? 


Thus  by  their  fear,  'twixt  doubt  and  longing  tost, 

With  their  best  leader  to  their  guidance  lost, 

They  paused,  suspicious,  and  their  anchors  weighed ; 

And  standing  off  the  port  a  while,  displayed 

Their  seaward  strength.     Thus,  circling  all  the  place. 

They  waited,  turning  unto  Orles  their  face. 

A  welcome  breathing  time !  although  unknoAvn, 

Its  worth  supreme  to  those,  to  whom  alone 

It  seemed  a  marvel,  and  a  resjiite  brief ; 

For  they  could  count  upon  no  late  relief. 

But  waited,  wondering  if  from  sea  or  land 

Should,  come  the  stroke  God  dealt  with  heavy  hand  ? 

But  at  the  hour  when  Guido,  far  away, 
Knowing  their  need,  fled  back  for  rescue  ;  they 
Saw  the  ringed  armament  around  them  move, 


l,J 


8G 


GUIDO  AND  LIT  A: 


As  tlioiigli  at  last  tlieir  poor  defence  to  prove ; 
And  crawling  slov.  \j  o'er  the  laud,  on  sea 
It  glided  almost  imperceptibly, 
Till  the  space  narrowed  to  a  Lowshot's  length, 
That  intervened  'twixt  gallantry  and  strength. 


I 

1 


Then  suddenly  ujion  three  points  was  made 

The  Paynims'  onslaught,  while  tlieir  trumpets  brayed ; 

And  tlieir  short  arrows  showered  upon  the  wall. 

Thick  as  from  pines  the  brown  dead  needles  fall. 

Just  where  'tis  lowest,  and  they  deem  it  weak, 

Th'ey  throw  their  grapnels  and  an  entry  seek 

With  light  ropo  ladders  that,  beneath  their  weight, 

SAvay  with  the  struggling  of  the  living  freight ; 

At  the  two  gates  assailing  masses  throng, 

"With  beams  and  hammers,  thundering  loud  and  long, 

Till  in  its  rivets  sliakes  each  structure  strong. 

But  by  the  battlements  protected  well. 

The  answering  bowmen  can  the  slaughter  swell : 

Their  hissing  shafts  wliirr  swiftly,  seeking  blood, 

And,  striking  deeply,  taste  the  crimson  flood ; 

While  thundering  loudly  do^vn  on  shield  and  helm. 

The  rugged  stones  the  foremost  foemcn  whelm, 

An*l  the  loud  roar  of  the  assaulting  host 

Is  met  by  cheers  that  ring  along  the  coast. 

The  climbing  swarms,  from  broken  ladders  thrown, 
In  writhing  remnants  clutch  the  ground  and  groan. 


A  TALE  OF  THE  HIVIERA. 


87 


But  lo !  tliG  eartli  for  cvciy  parting  life 

Yields  tliree,  to  lavish  on  the  desperate  strife  : 

Again  the  storming  parties,  mounting,  yio 

To  seize  the  wall,  and  when  the  top  is  nigh, 

Are  downward  hurled,  with  hatred's  yt.'lling  cry, 

And  bite  the  dust,  'mid  dying  men  to  die ! 

The  reeling  press  gives  way  a  while,  aghast 

At  the  grim  havoc  death  can  deal  so  fast ; 

Then  rallying  to  the  war-cry,  feared  of  old. 

Onward  once  more  the  tide  of  battle  rolled ; 

Above  their  heads  their  serried  shields  they  hold, 

Amid  the  dust  that  rises  like  a  cloud, 

Again  attaching ;  on  their  maddened  crowd 

The  ponderous  missiles  drop  in  deadly  hail. 

In  vain  :  no,  see,  they  halt ;  they  break,  they  quail ! 

The  noon  has  come  to  watch  the  work  accurst. 

And  vex  the  wounded  with  a  tenfold  thirst ; 

When  overworn  with  weariness  and  heat. 

The  hostile  colunms  make  a  slow  retreat. 

The  earth-born  vapours  that  in  air  v  ere  tost 

By  gleams  from  moving  armour  pierced,  and  crossed, 

Now  rise  no  more  from  off  the  tramjiled  ground. 

The  battle's  voices  cease  ;  and  far  around 

Nature,  beneficent  and  peaceful,  brings 

The  holy  calm,  that  broods  beneath  her  wings. 

On  soundless  shore,  and  sle  >ping  sea,  she  reigns, 

O'er  the  hushed  mountains  and  the  silejit  plains  ; 


!'■ 


88 


QUWO  AND  LITA: 


For  one  short  liour,  tlirougliout  tlie  beauteous  scene 
Violence  lias  yielded  to  lier  sway  serene. 


But  men  wlioso  words  were  bravest,  and  whose  cry 
Was  ever,  "Courage,  fight !  ye  see  they  fly !  " 
Know  that  the  strain  is  more  than  can  be  borne, 
If  such  a  night  again  bring  such  a  morn ; 
And  yet  undaunted,  the  old  knight  has  turned 
Again  to  Lita,  saying,  "Thou  hast  earned 
More  than  thy  share  of  glory,  but  the  means 
TJiou  hast  prepared  for  victory,  though  she  leans 
As  if  bestowing  \\Y)0\\  us  the  palm, 
Are  not  enough.     The  foe  has  wrought  no  harm 
Upon  our  buildings,  for  his  wild  desire 
For  plunder  shielded  them  from  shafts  of  fire. 
These,  at  the  next  attack,  will  surely  fly 
Upon  the  roofs.     See  there  !  as  if  to  try 
My  words,  they  come  with  torches,  and  the  bows 
Already  in  the  front,  the  danger  grows ! 
Then  be  it  thine,  -with  all  thy  comrades  here, 
To  stifle  with  quick  hands  this  flickering  fear, 
That  soon  shall  threaten  us  in  front  and  rear. 
Be  this  thy  work ;  and  if  I  send  to  tell 
That  we  are  pressed  too  sorely,  see  thou  well 
That  all  the  women,  though  they  wail  their  loss, 
Leave  gear  and  goods  as  if  they  were  but  dross, 
And  instant  seek  the  castle  j  there  we  may 


A  TALE  OF  TUB  RIVIERA. 


89 


Yet  reckon  witli  tliem  for  our  toil  to-clay  : 
Now  to  the  wells,  for  we  must  to  the  wall." 

Then  while  her  bfind,  obedient  to  her  call, 

Wait  near  the  tanks,  and  in  the  shelter  cower, 

Hoping  'gainst  hope  to  mar  the  flames  dread  power, 

A  herald,  springing  to  the  Moorish  van. 

Cries  for  surrender !  "or  the  winds  shall  fan 

Destru'^tion  o'er  each  dwelling,  and  each  man 

Shall  die  by  sword,  or  fire."     To  whom  the  knight, 

Standing  conspicuous  on  the  blood-stained  height, 

Replies  disdainfully,  "  No  sun  shall  see, 

No  stars  behold  such  dastard  infamy ; " 

Daring  the  worst.     And  as  the  torches  dance 

Among  the  Arab  ranks,  their  files  advance  : 

And  singly  placed  afar,  they  slowly  bend 

The  bows,  and  overhead,  high-aimed,  they  send 

The  first  red  arrow,  with  its  trail  of  flame. 


And  following  flights  incessant  seek  the  same 
High  paths,  and  arching  in  wide  curves  the  air. 
Fall  crackling  on  the  tiles,  or  lighting  where 
The  woodwork,  wrinkled  by  the    un,  is  bare, 
Strike  with  dulled  stroke  :  and  anxiously  aware 
Of  the  great  peril  menacing  so  near, 
The  few  defenders  of  the  wall,  for  fear 
Of  fresh  attack,  durst  never  quit  their  post. 


90 


QUIDO  AND  LIT  A: 


But  iJl}^  watcliing  tlio  opposing  liost, 

And  all  inactive,  marked  with  added  gloom 

Tbe  fiery  messengers  of  coming  doom. 

But  where  the  tongues  of  leaping  heat  woidd  rise, 

Warned  hj  prompt  signal,  bred  of  watchful  eyes, 

The  ready  water,  hissing  o'er  the  roof, 

Still  kept  the  dwelling  to  the  peril  proof. 

But  as  the  evening  came,  the  sneaking  fire 

Hose  at  one  spot  yet  higher  still  and  higher ; 

And  in  attempting  to  subdue  its  might. 

Amid  the  arrows'  ^ver  quickening  flight, 

Some  of  the  women  by  the  shafts  were  maimed. 

And  then  came  panic,  as  the  houses  flamed. 

And  a  wild  onset  from  the  foe  without. 

And  hurried  tumult,  with  blind  rage  and  doubt. 


The  strong  resistance  was  no  more ;  o'erdone, 
Outnumbered,  and  exhausted,  as  the  sun 
Descended  sadly,  the  survivors  let 
The  growing  conflict  follow,  as  they  set 
Their  faces  to  the  castle,  and  arrayed 
In  such  fair  order  that  no  haste  betrayed 
Dismay  was  spreading  'mid  their  ranks,  they  closed 
Gates  that  deaf  ii'on  to  grim  threats  opposed. 

There  for  an  instant,  by  their  victory  fired, 
To  win  the  bridge  the  furious  foe  aspii-ed. 


.      .  A  TALE  OF  THE  mviEUA. 

But  whoro  two  warriors  scarce  couM  kcop  abreast 
Numbers  wore  useless ;  and  no  foot  could  rest 
Upon  Its  narrow  patli,  wliere  every  rock 
Thrm  a  from  the  fortress  overhead,  witli  sliock 
That  seemed  enour^li  to  crush  its  slender  build, 

TVith  darmg  men,  would  leave  it  bare  and  dean 
Save  for  the  blood  that  on  its  dust  was  seen  •      ' 
As  though  mere  flies  had  thus  been  brushed  away, 
Wlxei^  shnn lang  souls  had  left  the  mangled  clay, 
That  hurled  to  tlie  abyss  beneath,  lay  stilled 
^  orgotten  in  the  i)lace  its  life  had  filled 
For  soon,  withdrawing  from  the  fatal  space, 
Wliere  lay  the  bravest  of  their  dauntless  rac. 
The  Moorish  host  among  the  houses  spread,  ^ 
And  m  the  Christian  homes,  untenanted 
Sought  eagerly  for  spoil,  and  of  the  wine 
Made  glad  carousal. 


91 


Then  the  gleaming  line 
Ihat  marked  the  limits  of  the  fire's  domain 
Spread  out  and  lengthened  sloAvly,  until  fain 
To  force  tlieir  rival  conqueror  to  delay 
They  stayed  his  course ;  but  threw  wftJi  waste  away 
Ihe  water  gathered  in  the  town,  that  none 
Remained  at  last  Avhen  victory  was  won 
From  smouldering  embers,  from  the  parching  c^bw 


92 


OUIDO  AND  LITA. 


They  turned  athirst  to  greet  the  Avine's  cool  flow ; 

And  drank,  till  revelry  and  riot  rung 

Through  the  thick  darkness  that  o'er  Orles  was  liung  ; 

For  smoke  from  burning  roofs  and  huildings'  fall 

Spread  through  the  night  a  dim,  gigantic  pall. 

And  'neath  its  shadow,  Sleep  swept  down  to  stand 

Upon  the  ramparts,  and  to  wave  his  hand ; 

And  impious  moutlis  were  closed,  and  fevered  brows, 

That  flushed  at  braggart  and  blaspheming  vows, 

Relaxed  in  still  forgetfulncss,  as  though 

The  spell  that  held  them  could  no  breaking  know. 


But  'neath  the  robe  of  silence  that  she  wore. 
Night  in  her  womb  a  ghastly  danger  bore ; 
For  the  hot  ashes,  kindling  at  the  breath 
Of  whispering  breezes,  subtly  wrought  for  death. 
And  wdiere  they  slumbered  in  the  timber's  heart, 
Through  blackened  surfaces  began  to  start ; 
Until  wdtli  lurid  hue  incarnadined, 
A  pulsing  life  replaced  the  darkness  blind  ; 
And  greeting  wdth  hot  lips  the  outer  air, 
Caressed  it,  rising  from  its  steaming  lair. 
With  fair  and  lustrous  arms,  that  felt  and  sought 
The  ambient  element  that  vigour  brought, 
And  fed  on  its  desire  ;  then  flung  on  high 
Broad  beckoning  banners  to  the  answering  sky ; 
And  onward  leaping,  urged  afar  and  near 
The  rapid  ravage  of  a  fell  career. 


A  TALE  OF  THE  RIVIERA. 

In  stupor  sunk,  by  dull  oblivion  doomed, 

Tho  Pfiynim  soldier  sleeps,  until  entombed. 

And  many  an  agony  and  stifled  groan 

Is  seen  and  lieard  by  vengeful  flames  alone. 

The  blaze,  extending  witli  devouring  rage, 

Aroused  the  rest  a  useless  fight  to  wage. 

Where  yet  a  hope  remains  thoy  soon  create 

A  line  of  ruin,  barren,  desolate. 

And  seek  to  mock  their  grim  pursuer's  greed 

By  leaving  nought  whereon  his  tongue  may  feed. 

But  as  they  toil  to  gain  a  narrow  space, 

And  pray  destruction  may  avert  its  face ; 

The  paltry  trenches  are  o'erleaped  and  stormed, 

Tho  conflagration  o'er  each  house  has  formed 

A  dazzling  pile  of  forked  and  stabbing  fires, 

Lilie  hellish  phantoms,  shaped  as  shrines  and  spires. 

But  round  the  church's  tower  and  shining  roof 

Still  guardian  angels  kept  the  fiends  aloof ; 

And  from  the  keej),  the  Christians  could  behold 

How,  as  the  bellowing  flames  about  it  rolled, 

The  ancient  fane,  around  its  massive  wall, 

Gave  hope  and  refuge,  still  alike,  to  all. 

As  there  tho  Saracens  stood  thronged  in  light, 

Or  fled  yet  further  into  blackest  night, 

Out  of  tho  darkness,  and  from  oflf  the  sea 

Were  wafted  sounds,  that  made  men  bend  the  knee 


93 


94 


OUIDO  AND  LIT  A: 


To  pray  they  told  of  conflict,  and  to  hear 
If  aid  they  meant,  and  if  they  drew  more  near ; 
And  spring  again  to  foot,  and  grasp  their  arms, 
For  such  sliarp  notes  must  speak  of  war's  alarms. 

Aid  comes !  aid  comes,  oh,  hark  the  surging  cry 

The  quick  assault  sends  forth  unto  the  sky ! 

Hark !  as  if  oaks  were  crashing  in  the  blast 

The  splintering  ruin  of  some  tangling  mast. 

The  shock  of  charging  prows ;  the  ringing  knell 

Of  whose  hushed  notes  the  mournful  wave  must  tell ! 


Oh,  who  can  know  the  fortunes  of  the  fight. 
Interpreting  the  doubt  of  doom  aright  ? 
And  who  distinguish  'mid  that  awful  din 
The  battle-call,  that  shall,  prevailing,  win  ? 
Yet,  as  the  tumult  to  their  ears  is  borne, 
Joy  may  re-enter  every  heart  forlorn ; 
Returning  strength  sustain  the  shaking  knees, 
"Orles,  Orles  !"  and  "Rescue!"  vibrate  on  the  breezo 
"  Orles,  Orles ! "  replies  the  knight,  and  shouts  amain, 
"Down  with  the  dogs !  who  follows  me  again?" 

The  fighting  passion  of  his  early  days 
Burns  in  his  veins,  and  sheds  on  age  its  rays. 
The  gates  are  opened  and  a  faithful  few 
Charge,  and  with  him  the  conflict  they  renew. 


A  TALE  OF  THE  RIVIERA. 

Against  the  flying  foe  liis  band  lie  leads, 

But  when  the  church  is  reached,  he  faUs,  he  bleeds ! 

Meanwhile  the  Fates,  inexorable,  brought 
Kecoiling  mischief  back  to  where  'twas  wrought. 
Expelled  by  terrors  they  themselves  contrived. 
Of  Orles'  strong  shelter  suddenly  deprived, 
The  Moslems,  scattered  in  disorder,  meet  ' 
A  death  too  merciful,  because  too  fleet. 

But,  springing  o'er  their  prostrate  corpses,  who 
Comes  swift,  as  though  on  winged  foot  he  flew? 
Whose  the  tall  form  with  pallid  face  that  speeds 
Before  the  foremost  where  the  vanguard  leads? 
Who  passes  now  the  bridge,  and  now  the  gate, 
And  pauses  only  where  the  women  wait, 
A  piteous  crowd  on  floor  of  court  and  stair, 
And  seems  to  seek,  but  seek  for  one  not  there? 
Though  numbers  press  in  every  vaulted  space, 
AU  seems  a  void  without  that  absent  face. 
Each  passage  empty,  and  he  rushes  down 
Again  to  wander  in  the  burning  town. 

Look,  his  wild  eye  with  quick  delight  can  beam  ; 
For  by  the  church,  and  near  the  fountain's  stream, 
Is  she  for  whom  he  seeks,  nor  seeks  in  vain, 
For  Lita  turns  not  from  his  arms  again  1 


95 


96 


QUIDO  AND  LIT  A, 


But  soon  her  liand  points  where  his  father  lies  ; 
And  Guido  starts,  and  flies  to  him,  and  tries 
To  chase  the  blood  to  nerveless  fingers,  laid 
Upon  the  handle  of  a  crimsoned  blade  ; 
Thc:^  ixotes  how  carefully  a  scarf  is  bound 
And  fastened  firmly  Avliere  the  wound  is  found ; 
Sees  how  the  eyelids  lift  their  heavy  fringe 
And  faintly  life  again  the  cheeks  may  tinge. 
The  ashen  lips  with  feeble  effort  smile, 
As  Lita  loieels  by  Guido's  side  the  while, 
And  looking  on  his  son,  and  on  the  maid, 
"Let  nought  against  thy  love  for  her  be  said." 
He  slowly  speaks,  "  She  came  to  bind  my  hurt, 
She  brought  the  warning  to  our  town  inert, 
She  reft  the  infidel  of  Sirad's  aid. 
Her  timely  help  the  battle's  chances  swayed  ; 
By  her  the  fire  throughout  the  day  was  stayed, 
And  safe  retreat  ensured  to  wife  and  maid. 
What  say  these  people,  are  they  ours  ?     My  sight 
Grows  dim.     0  place  me  'neath  the  altar  bright." 

And  borne  by  soldiers  come  from  victory's  fight 
They  lay  him  where  afresh  the  candles  burn 
Beneath  the  crucifix,  that  he  may  turn 
His  dying  gaze  upon  the  Death  Divine. 

And  as  the  shades  of  night  at  length  incline 
To  tints  of  grey,  the  rescued  people  me^t, 


mmm 


A  TALE  OF  THE  RIVIERA. 

And  kneel  in  church,  or  search  if  fervid  heat 

Has  spared  some  reUc  they  may  fondly  greet. 

But,  with  the  flushing  of  the  rising  sun 

On  sea,  and  mount,  and  clouds  of  smoke-wreaths  dun, 

Is  heard  a  cry  from  those  who,  where  they  stand. 

See  the  white  line  of  bay-indented  strand. 

They  point  to  where,  along  the  western  road 

Bright  pennons  wave,  and  brilliant  horsemen  goad 

Their  steeds,  with  ardour,  o'er  the  winding  way. 

Light  leaps  and  ripples  o'er  their  long  array, 

A  silver  river,  kissed  by  joyous  day ! 

Whence  come  those  troops,  whose  glittering  ranks  appear 

An  endless  host,  although  the  van  is  near? 

Moors  would  not  ride  so  frankly,  and  so  free 

On  Christian  land,  by  Orles'  well  guarded  sea? 

'Tis  not  a  foeman  who  thus  comes  ?    Behold, 

He  bears  a  banner  with  a  cross  of  gold ! 

Each  heart  may  joy,  and  sheathed  be  every  sword : 
There  rides  our  Liege,  Provence's  sovereign  Lord !  f) 
Away  with  grief,  let  every  fear  be  banned, 
Our  Prince  is  come,  the  Father  of  our  land, 
Count  Wilham  comes,  with  chivahy,  with  might^ 
Isarn,  blessed  Prelate !  rides  upon  his  right. 
Forth  then  to  meet  him,  througli  our  blackened  gates, 
And  greet  the  vengeance  that  the  Moor  awaits  ! 


97 


98 


QUIDO  AND  LITA: 


! 


Tho  gallant  train  tlie  cliurcli's  front  has  gained ; 
Their  Leader's  steed  is  at  the  fountain  reined, 
And  Guido  takes  his  Lord  within  to  view ; 
Him  whom  he  mourns,  the  sire  the  Paynim  slew, 
Recounts  the  tale  of  those  adventurous  days. 
How  brief  their  space,  and  yet  it  years  outweighs ! 
When  all  is  learned,  the  Count  goes  forth  to  stand 
Upon  the  church's  stops,  and  lifts  his  hand, 
And  bids  his  troops  rank  round  him  on  the  place  ; 
And  calls  for  Lita,  who,  with  blushing  face 
Comes  out  to  stand  before  him  ;  and  he  speaks  : 
"Who  now  for  glory,  or  for  honour  seeks. 
Let  him,  from  deeds  done  here,  example  take ; 
Deeds  of  this  gentle  maiden,  whom  I  make 
A  Lady  of  my  land,  and  ask  that  she 
Attend  my  court :  and  Guido,  as  for  thee. 
Thou  too  must  follow ;  till  the  realm  be  free 
Of  heathen  hordes,  our  swords  must  never  sleep. 
Our  name  must  be  so  terrible,  yon  deep 
Shall  yet  refuse  to  bear  upon  its  breast 
The  fleets  it  brought  to  startle  us  from  rest." 

Thus  by  his  love  was  Guido  called  to  brave 
War  on  the  land,  and  war  upon  the  wave. 
By  love  awakened  to  a  manly  pride, 
Li  spirit  searched,  and  changed,  and  purified. 
His  bright  renown  o'er  Christendom  was  spread. 
And  lived  where'er  the  light  of  victory  sped. 


A  TALE  OF  TEE  RIVIERA. 

A  year  has  passed,  and  where  red  battle  burned, 
Fair  Peace  again  with  blessings  has  returned, 
And  mailed  processions,  banished  from  the  field, 
To  white-robed  trains  the  festive  town  must  yield. 
See,  to  the  sound  of  music  and  of  song, 
A  stately  pageant  slowly  moves  along. 
Before  the  church'.s  door  ihQ  crowds  divide ; 
Hail  the  sweet  pomp,  that  guards  the  maiden  bride ! 
HaH  the  young  lord,  who  comes  this  day  to  claim, 
A  prize,  the  guerdon  of  a  glorious  name  ! 
They  kneel  before  the  altar,  hand  in  hand, 
"While  thronged  around,  Provence's  warriors  stand. 

Hush !  for  the  sacred  rites,  the  solemn  vow. 

That  croAvns  with  Faith,  young  Love's  impetuous  brow. 

The  prayer  is  said ;  then,  as  the  anthem  swells 

A  peal  ruigs  out  of  happy  marriage  bells ; 

Grief  pales  and  dies  'neath  joy's  ascending  sun. 

For  knight,  and  moid,  have  blent  then-  Hves  m'one. 


99 


f 


NOTES. 

(})  "Le  midi  ne  fut  plus  assailli  par  de  grandcs  armdes  dMnfidelcs ;  (after  924 
A.  D.)  mais,  durant  pr^s  d'un  dcmi-si^cle  encore,  la  cote  de  Provence  et  las 
d^filds  des  Alpes  furent  infestd's  par  la  colonie  de  brigands  musulmans  qui 
s'etaient  fait  un  rcpaire  inaccessible  dans  les  bois  et  les  rochcrs  de  Freycinet  ou  la 
Garde-Frainct,  non  loin  de  Saint-Tropez,  et  du  golfe  de  Grimaud.  Ces 
audacieux  bandits  s'empar6rent  de  tons  les  passages  qui  ni6ncnt  de  la  Gaule  en 
Italic,  p6n(5tr6rcnt  de  valine  en  vallde  jusque  dans  le  Valais,  rilelvetie  et  la 
Lombardie,  et  s'^tablirent  au  couvent  de  Saint-Maurice  en  940.  Les  pelerins  de 
Rome,  longtemps  depouilles  ou  massacres  par  eux,  finircnt  par  leur  payer  un 
tribut  r^gulier,  analogue  h.  celui  que  les  hadjis  de  la  Mccquc  ont  si  longtemps 
paye  aux  Arabcs  du  desert.  lis  occupaicnt  une  multitude  de  tours  et  de  for- 
tercsses,  depuis  les  sources  du  Rhone  jusqu'a  rembouchure  du  Var ;  ils  (5taient 
devenus  une  puissance  politique,  et  se  m^nagaient  cntre  le  roi  d'ltalie  et  le  roi 
d'Arles,  qui  craignaient  ^galement  de  les  pousser  si  bout." — Ilistoire  de  Fratue, 
par  Martin.    Tom.  ii.  p.  510. 


(')  "  On  Ignore  s'il  se  passa  quelqiies  ^v^nements  dignes  d'inl^rSt  dans  la 
France  romane  de  966  h.  973 ;  on  sait  seulement  que  les  chefs  proven9aux,  durant 
cette  intervalle,  chassferent  et  ddtruisirent  glorieusement  les  bandcs  musulmanes 
qui  avaient  si  longtemps  ran9onnd  leur  pays,  et  que  la  politique  des  rois  d'ltalie 
avail  prot^gdcs  pour  rcndre  I'acc^s  des  Alpes  plus  dilTicile  aux  hommes  de  France 
et  de  Germanic.  Les  Sarrasins  n'avaient  pu  tenir  longtemps  le  poste  de  Saint- 
Maurice,  CO  point  central  des  Alpes  qu'ils  avaient  envahi  avec  une  si  ^tonnante 


w 


102 


NOTES, 


audace ;  mais  ils  conservaient  toujours  de  nombreux  repaires  dans  les  Basses- 
Alpes,  et  surtout  dans  les  rochers  de  Fraxinet,  capitale  de  cctte  r^publique  de 
pirates :  Guilhem,  comte  d'Arles  ou  de  Provence,  second^,  suivant  les  traditions 
locales,  par  un  pr^lat  guerricr,  Isarn,  6v6que  de  Grenoble,  detruisit  successive- 
ment  ces  aires  d'oiscaux  dc  proie,  et  finit  par  ^eraser  Ics  'infiddes  '  dans  un  com- 
bat ddcisif,  au  moment  ou  ils  se  rcpliaient  de  toutes  parts  sur  Fraxinet :  la  colonic 
musulmane  fut  tout  enti^re  taill^e  en  pieces  ou  engloutie  dans  les  pr<$cipices  de 
ces  cotes  abruptes." — Histoire  de  France,  par  Martin.     Tom.  ii.  p.  535. 


